


Yaoi Emblem: Path of Raunchiness

by FlamingDoritos



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Crack Pairings, I guess technically some of these guys are under 18 whoops, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 110,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamingDoritos/pseuds/FlamingDoritos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Path of Radiance. Follow the Greil Mercenaries as they fight to get their country back-and to get laid. All your favourite yaoi pairings (and some you might not expect) in one easy package. Originally written from 2008-2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Soren finally returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone. This is possibly the biggest piece of work I've written so far in my life, although I'll be the first to admit that it's not completely excellent. Still, I wrote this over the course of several years, with the third and final draft being what you see in front of you. I'm six years older now than I was when the final draft was completed, but I'm still proud of this beast of a fanfiction, even if I look back and cringe at certain things now and again. 
> 
> Welcome, and please enjoy.

“Soren’s back.”

Ike faltered slightly. This brief moment of hesitation was all it took for Boyd to catch the opening and disarm Ike. The practice sword went flying and buried itself neatly into the wall next to an agitated-looking Shinon. Ike tried to look innocent as Boyd cackled in the background.

“When?” he asked his sister, briefly wondering how he would get his practice sword back. The look Shinon was giving him could have killed a small animal.

“A few minutes ago,” Mist replied, shrugging. “You were too caught up in sparring to notice. He’s inside now.”

Ike nodded, suppressing a smile. “I suppose I ought to say hello, then, shouldn’t I? It’s been months.”

“Wait!” Mist latched onto his left arm. “I’ll come with you. He said that he’s got bad news.”

Frowning, Ike paused. “Like what?”

His sister shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t even look at me when he came in, just told me to get everyone.” She turned and shouted to the front yard. “Everyone get inside! There’s a meeting right now!”

Grumbling came from Shinon’s general direction, and Mist huffed as she led her brother and Boyd inside.

As soon as they entered the briefing room, Ike felt his pulse quicken. The mage looked the same as ever, still in dark robes and with his dark hair tied back with three different ties. Still pale, still with that strange birthmark standing out brilliantly on his forehead. Still too skinny to be healthy.

“Hello, Ike.”

How he had noticed Ike’s presence without turning around would forever be a mystery.

“H-hey, Soren.” He smiled just slightly and stood near the mage. “How have you been?”

“Busy,” Soren replied, finally turning to look at the ranger. “I’ve learned much about tactics, thank you. I’ve spent the last three days riding like mad from Melior. Things aren’t looking good for the capital.”

Greil frowned. “What do you mean? We’re all here. Spit it out.”

Soren’s crimson eyes narrowed just slightly. “Crimea and Daein have gone to war.”

Mist was the first to get words out. “W-what? It can’t be!”

“Hush, Mist,” Ike murmured, placing his hands on his sister’s shoulders.

“That’s why everyone’s here,” Greil was saying. “Soren has more information than anyone does.”

The mage nodded and pulled a map down from the wall. “Look. This is Melior. Our base of operations is roughly…here,” he concluded after a moment. “Three days ago I was in the library when the scream from a beast rent the air. A wyvern, perhaps. The entire building shook. I rushed outside and saw wave after wave of knights, cavalry, and wyvern riders, all clad in armour as black as night.”

“The Daein army,” Greil murmured.

“Correct.”

“Was there any provocation?”

Soren took a moment to tuck his hair behind his ear. “Relations between Crimea and Daein have been…rocky, at best. But in the past there have been only minor skirmishes. This attack was brutal, massive, completely without warning. The capital was burned to the ground. I’ve never seen destruction of this scale before.”

“A swift attack, devastating and brutal…” Titania sighed and leaned on the table next to Greil. “Quite a daring gamble.”

“But if it succeeds, a well-chosen one,” the commander replied. “What happened next?”

“The king ordered his people to flee before any more were killed. Fearing the worst, I stole a horse and made my way here.”

Ike smiled; Soren’s eyes had caught his as he had spoken.

“So we don’t know how things are now, do we?”  The commander paused, and then the barest hint of a smile grew on his face. “Well, word of war cannot have traveled far. We may very well be the first to know of it. As such, we’re prepared. Thank you, Soren. I know that you risked a lot to get here.”

“Of course, sir.” The mage nodded and took a step back, allowing the commander to call full attention to himself. Ike smiled and let one of his hands brush the other man’s. Soren’s gaze softened just slightly and his pinky wound around Ike’s. Mist pretended not to notice.

“What are we going to do?” Ike asked.

“That’s the question of the day,” Greil replied. “Titania?”

The paladin nodded. “Sir. Crimea is the closest thing we have to a homeland. We’ve been given many jobs from both the royal family and the nobles in the surrounding area. From a moral standpoint as well as a business one, it’s in our best interest to aid Crimea.”

“Soren?”

“We are mercenaries, not Crimea’s private militia. No coin has crossed our palms. We should stay out of it.”

“You would have us sit and watch as Crimea is overrun?”

“I would. Daein is superior in both numbers and morale. The chances of a Crimean victory are slim.”

Titania frowned. “But Crimea is ruled by King Ramon, who is known for his wisdom. And Duke Renning is said to possess peerless valour and courage. Daein may not find victory so easily.”

“Valour and courage are for children’s tales,” Soren replied. “Victory will inevitably hinge on numbers and supplies and Daein is superior in both. The outcome is painfully obvious.”

The paladin’s fist slammed down on the table. “Curse you, Soren! Crimea is not doomed! If they can turn aside the initial thrust and turn it into a test of endurance—”

“Crimea is ill-prepared and demoralized. They will not be able to hold out that long.”

“That’s enough,” Greil interrupted. “I hear what you say. However, we need to observe the situation before we decide on a plan of action. We’ll send a scouting party to get a closer look at Melior. Ike, you’re in charge of this. Assemble your men and get going.”

Ike raised an eyebrow. “What? Me?”

“Titania will accompany you as an advisor. Get a move on.”

Shinon stood. “Commander, you must be joking. He’s just a boy. He’s barely had more than a taste of battle. What do expect _him_ to do?”

Greil smirked. “Well, since you’re so concerned, you can go as well. Take Gatrie with you. Rhys and Soren, you’ll go as well. Titania, I’m going out for a bit. Give Ike some direction.”

“Understood.” The paladin smiled gently. “Come, Ike.”

Ike nodded, still in something of a daze. “…yes.”

())CRAYOLA))>

 “I missed you.”

“Not _now_ , Ike.” The mage ducked behind a tree as a lance whistled toward his head. He cast a spell as Ike lunged toward the soldier. The man fell, dead. “Save it for if we survive.”

The ranger paused. Soren made a face. “And stop faltering every time someone says something as you fight. You’ll die at this rate.”

Ike nodded and his face fell slightly. Soren sighed.

“I still like you, moron,” he murmured. “Now focus.”

Ike smiled. “…yes.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“I’m sorry.”

Ike frowned, opening one eye. “For what?”

Soren didn’t turn away from his books. His quill didn’t stop scratching the parchment. “For what I said before I left.”

It took Ike a moment to remember. The fight the night before he had left. The argument. The insults. He smiled and walked over to Soren’s chair, wrapping his arms around the mage from behind. Soren jumped and dropped his quill.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, absently twisting a strand of Soren’s hair around his finger. “We were upset.”

Soren smirked and he replaced his quill carefully next to the inkwell. He shrugged off Ike’s arms and stood. The taller man frowned slightly.

“Soren?”

“Shut up.”

The mage immediately shoved Ike down onto his bed, straddling his waist. Ike grinned and wrapped his arms around Soren’s body. Their lips met almost tentatively. A faint, gentle brush. Soren flushed.

“I…”

“I love you,” Ike murmured. “I missed you so much.”

Soren kissed him again, hard. Furiously. Ike gripped the mage’s hips, kissed him back. Undid the buckles holding his robes closed. The mage flushed.

“I-Ike! What are you doing?! If anyone walks in—”

“It’ll be Oscar,” Ike replied smoothly, pulling the outer layer of Soren’s robes open. “And he knows to keep everyone out when we’re alone together.”

“B-but—”

“Did you miss me, too?” Ike smiled and tugged Soren’s collar open, pressing kisses along his neck. Soren gasped.

“I-Ike—”

“Did you?”

“Of course I did,” Soren gasped. “Every night you were all I could think of.” He looked away. “I love you.”

Ike smiled and gently kissed the mage. “I love you, too.”

They kissed. Slowly removed clothing, gently tormented each other. Remembered at the last moment to bar the door and pull curtains over the windows. Ike smiled and gently kissed the mage.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Yes, well…I did my best to get here. Wouldn’t do me any good if you’d been killed or something.” Soren smiled gently. He never smiled for anyone but Ike. It was endearing, really. Ike gently nuzzled the mage’s neck, drawing a contented sigh.

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

Soren nodded curtly, sitting up, gently pushing Ike down and straddling the other man’s waist. It was Ike’s turn to flush.

“S-Soren?”

The mage grinned that feral little grin of his. “Eyes closed.”

Ike obeyed, smiling. “I love you,” he murmured.

Soren’s bare chest pressed against his and the mage’s lips brushed against his neck. “I love you too, Ike.”

())CRAYOLA))>

It was a mark before dawn when Soren woke him up, placing his already-folded clothes in his arms and smiling just slightly. Ike groaned softly, but as Soren pointed out, they couldn’t get caught. Goddess knew what the others would think.

“I love you,” Ike murmured, kissing Soren gently.

“Mm.” The mage smiled, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist, letting their naked bodies press together. “I love you, too.”


	2. In which Oscar does some thinking

 

 _Crimea and Daein have gone to war_.

The thought had kept him up for the better part of the night. He told himself it was because he worried about his brothers. Boyd was seventeen, still hard-headed and hormone-driven. The chance for battle always made him eager to impress. With a war on hand and the inevitability of dozens of battles, the odds were that the fighter would be looking for some glorious victory, a minor wound that would be tended to by a pretty girl whom he would eventually end up marrying. That sort of thinking was what got men killed.

Rolf was still too young. Hardly past twelve. He had no fighting experience, couldn’t even use a weapon. Still small enough to kidnap, too, if last week was anything to go by. Hell, the news had terrified him so much that he’d abandoned his and Boyd’s room last night to come bunk with Oscar.

All of this was still just the fog that hung beneath the clouds. What about his former comrades? Geoffrey. Probably in charge of some of the defences around the castle. He was a good fighter. Wouldn’t fail that easily. Had only ever failed at anything when it came to keeping Kieran out of the kitchen in the middle of the night. And Kieran…

The knight sighed softly, gently rumpling Rolf’s hair. The boy stirred but didn’t wake, and Oscar carefully climbed over him, mentally noting that against the wall wasn’t the best place for his bed to be. After a brief and somewhat futile search for a clean shirt, he threw on yesterday’s (it didn’t stink too badly) and opened his door.

He smiled. His room was across and two down from Soren’s. Ike stood outside the mage’s room, cape wrapped around his waist and the rest of his clothing in one arm. He leaned in and Oscar heard him kiss the other man, whisper an ‘I love you’, then hurry down the hall to his own room.

The knight smiled and headed to the kitchen.

())CRAYOLA))>

 As he finished clearing the kitchen after breakfast, his mind began wandering. With nobody left to distract him, his mind wandered back.

 _If I hadn’t left the Knights…I suppose I’d be fighting, wouldn’t I?_ He sighed and began scrubbing the grime baked onto the pots from last night. _Most likely would be…well, wounded at best. Let’s not kid ourselves, Oscar. You’re hardly a paladin._ The thought seized him. _But you were smarter than Kieran was. Is…he…?_

Frantically, he shook his head. _No. That man’s too stubborn—or maybe just too stupid—to die._ Absently he fingered the gold chain that rested around his neck. He smiled. _But he said that he wouldn’t die at the hands of anyone but his rival._

“Oscar Oscar Oscar!”

The knight snapped out of his thoughts as Rolf barrelled into him, shouting about Boyd tormenting him. Oscar sighed.

“Go find Mist. She’ll find you something to do.” Oscar chuckled. “But if any strange men with axes come after you, you scream like a devil, alright?”

Rolf was already partway out the door. “’Kay!” His oldest brother sighed and turned to Boyd.

“Can’t you leave him alone for five minutes? He’s worried enough as things are; he doesn’t need you tormenting him too.”

“It’s how I vent my anger and frustration,” Boyd said, putting on a perfect imitation of Greil. “Boss said that we’re supposed to do what we can to keep de-stressed. This is how I deal with things.”

“Bull,” Oscar replied. “If you can afford to torment your younger brother than you can afford to help me clean.” He smirked and threw the pot at Boyd, who fumbled for several seconds before he managed to get a firm grip. The fighter made a face.

“But this pot is hopeless—” he began. His words were cut off as a rag slapped him in the face. Oscar chuckled evilly.

“It’ll go faster if we both clean,” he pointed out. “Besides, that pot’s been soaking all night.”

The fighter muttered something about having the devil for a brother and reluctantly sat down. After a moment he spoke, not looking up.

“Who’s Kieran?”

Oscar felt his face heat up and pretended to scrub down the counter behind Boyd. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you talk in your sleep. I walked Rolf to your room last night; the brat’s too big of a pansy to walk across the hall by himself. You were muttering something about a man named Kieran when we walked in. Who is he?” Boyd turned to look Oscar in the eye. “You’re not a fag, are you?”

“Where on earth did you learn that sort of language?”

“Answer me.”

Oscar frowned. “I’ll answer to nobody who holds no authority over me. You’re being incredibly rude. What exactly do you aim to find out with this sort of attitude?”

“Whether or not my brother is a queer.” Boyd’s gaze bored into Oscar’s. “It’s not a hard question.”

“And why would it matter if I was?”

“Because that would make you an abomination,” the fighter replied. “It’s disgusting. We’ve got men and women, and that’s the way things should be.”

“That’s enough, Boyd. What lifestyle people choose is their own and you’ve got no right to condemn them for it. What does it matter if Kieran was a friend or a lover? Maybe he was the man who served us dinner at that pub a few nights ago and I remembered that we forgot to tip him. How would you know?” Oscar’s scowl didn’t disappear.

“I’m concerned for my brother’s mortal soul, that’s all.” Now Boyd was smiling, just barely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

Oscar sighed softly and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Is this about Zayle?”

“Absolutely not.”

The lance knight smiled. “Well…if it makes you feel any better, those townsfolk were out of line. They always had been, no matter what the situation was.”

“It’s not about him,” Boyd murmured.

“Alright,” Oscar replied, shrugging. He paused. “If you must know, Kieran was a friend of mine from when we were in the knights. He’s the strange redhead that I used to go catch up with every few months. I’m just wondering if he and the rest of our platoon are alright.” He chuckled. “I’ve got friends too, you know.”

“Yeah, right,” Boyd laughed. “You’ve got no friends. Don’t kid yourself.”

Lightly, Oscar flicked the back of his brother’s skull. “Keep scrubbing.”

())CRAYOLA))>

 “Oscar.”

It took the lance knight three seconds to wake up. That was all the knights were allowed; with midnight attacks (rare as they were) they needed to be awake, armoured, and fighting within minutes. Oscar squinted through the darkness, trying to figure out whether or not he needed to be helping Kieran fasten his armour. When no other sound came, he sighed.

“What do you _want_ , Kieran?” he moaned exasperatedly. “It’s the middle of the night and unless we’re being attacked I want to go back to bed.”

“I heard that you were leaving tomorrow, rival.” His voice was too close for him to be across the room in his bed. Oscar realized that the redhead was standing next to his bed. He sighed and sat up, feeling around until he found his candle and the flint beside it. Carefully he lit the candle and looked up at Kieran.

“Yes, I am,” he replied. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“My sworn rival will be gone! What do you think that means? It means that I must train harder, for surely you scheme to secretly train in order to best me! If I allow that to happen then the name of the Great Knight Kieran will be tarnished forever. I cannot allow my name to be sullied! In fact—”

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Oscar said, smiling.

Kieran’s face turned the same shade of red as his hair. “ _Miss_ me? I wasn’t aware that I was being shot at! I’ll fetch a bow and then we’ll see who misses who!”

“Kieran. My stepmother just left us. We’ve got no parents now; dad died last year. Boyd’s only fifteen; Rolf’s ten. They can’t take care of themselves. I need to go home. They can’t stay with the neighbours forever.”

“You’re hardly past twenty two,” Kieran pointed out, sitting down next to the green-haired man. “Can you really take care of them?”

Oscar shrugged. “I’ve got my earnings. I’ve never spent much gold on anything I didn’t need. I get a bonus because of this. I mean…it’s not much. But it’ll be enough until I find another job.” He sighed. “But things will be boring without you to torment me regularly.”

“Pah! It’s not torment! It’s training! To keep you on your toes! I can’t have my rival becoming dull-witted, can I?”

“Indeed not.” Oscar smiled. “Well, at least I won’t have a roommate who snores.”

The look on Kieran’s face was one of absolute rage and he stood up, flailing. “Blasphemy! The Great Knight Kieran does not _snore_!”

Oscar burst out laughing at the indignant look on the other man’s face. He caught one of Kieran’s hands as the man flailed and pulled. Kieran stumbled and literally fell into bed with Oscar. His shouting sank into stammering in about half a second.

“R-rival…! H-how d-d-dare y-you make such an at-t-tempt on m-my life?! If-f I had f-full use of m-my arms I w-would have ut-terly d-destroyed you in this sh-short am-mount of t-time!”

“You snore louder than you stutter,” Oscar purred, grinning. “Don’t fret. You just fell, that’s all. Looks like I win the contest of balance.”

“Lies! Squinty lies!” Their too-close contact was forgotten as Kieran began shouting again. “I see what you’re doing, you trickster! This is some sort of scheme to prove—”

“And I bet I can kiss better than you can, too.” Internally, Oscar cackled. It was his last night; why not have a bit of fun?

Kieran was oddly silent, and the candle chose that moment to finally sputter, drowning in its own wax. They were bathed in darkness and Oscar suddenly thought that this had been a terrible idea.

“A true Royal Crimean Knight only kisses the one he loves,” Kieran huffed indignantly. “He would never challen—”

It didn’t matter what Kieran had been about to say. His lips were covered and his hair was just as soft as Oscar had imagined and Kieran had hesitated for only a second before reacting, pulling him close. Almost shyly, if Oscar were to be the judge.

“Oscar…?”

“A true Royal Crimean Knight only kisses the one he loves,” Oscar murmured. “I’m going to miss you, Kieran.”

He couldn’t tell if Kieran was blushing. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. They wouldn’t see each other after this. He released the other man.

Kieran didn’t let go. His face was pressed against Oscar’s neck, their legs a tangled mess of limbs. Both breathing heavily, unsure of what was to come of this. Carefully Oscar replaced his arms around the other knight.

“…’m g’na mif oo too.”

“Pardon?” Oscar smiled; this was too good an opportunity to resist. He felt Kieran’s face heat against his neck.

“I’m going to miss you too.”

He smiled. “Kiss me?”

“Please let me.”

This Kieran was almost adorable, in his own way. The opposite of rowdy and annoying. Soft and shy. Were the stories, the intensity, the ridiculousness of the axe knight’s everyday behaviour some sort of ruse? Some ploy to get his attention? The thought was almost flattering, and Oscar smiled against Kieran’s lips. Experimentally, he flicked his tongue against Kieran’s bottom lip. The redhead stammered something completely nonsensical. Oscar chuckled and gently kissed the other man, who immediately rolled them both over. A hot tongue slid into his mouth. He was caught completely off-guard and it was Kieran’s turn to chuckle.

“I love you,” the knight murmured. Even through the dark, Oscar knew he was smiling.

“I…love you too,” Oscar replied. “…will you sleep with me?”

The stammering began again. “I-I-I-I d-don’t th-think that w-we sh-should—”

“Not like that!” the lance knight said hurriedly. “I mean just…here. Like this. Y-you…feel good.” Inwardly he cursed, wondering briefly if stuttering was contagious somehow.

A kiss was pressed against his neck gently. “So do you.”

“G-go to sleep, Kieran.” Curses, that was twice now.

“Mm.” The redhead nuzzled against Oscar’s neck, pulled their blankets up. “G’night.”

Oscar smiled. “Good night.”

())CRAYOLA))>

Laughter woke him up. He frowned, squinted to try and make sense of the blurred shape in front of him. Eventually Ike was looking at him, smirking.

“So,” he asked, holding in another fit of laughter and poking Oscar through the mesh of the hammock. “Who’s Kieran?”


	3. In which there is a tragedy

He woke up because he was cold.

It was strange, being this chilled. When they’d left their base, they’d taken as little as they could to ease traveling. Six tents between twelve of them, a pack of rations each, several books and weapons. Everything else they had burned. Tent mates were easy enough to assign. Oscar and Boyd, Rolf and Rhys, Shinon and Gatrie, Greil and Mist, Titania and Elincia, Ike and Soren. For the last week of travel they had been in forests, in hiding. With everyone in their respective tents, it wasn’t terribly difficult for Ike to curl around him at night, kiss him. They would fall asleep together and wake up in a tangle of limbs, although that never lasted long. Soren had meetings on a daily basis with Greil to determine their best course of action, and he needed to be awake before the commander was. Their nights were short.

The castle was better. The doors could be locked here, and since nobody thought twice about it anyways they had barred the door and gotten swept up in a heated tangle of limbs and sweat and sex. Sleep came easily after that. A few minutes of pillow talk and then Ike had pulled him close, kissed him, murmured for him to sleep. He had been too tired to notice anything wrong, and as he pulled on his sandals he repeated in his mind that he should have asked, should have investigated, anything. His Wind tome only had 13 spells left and he frowned, making a mental note to replace it as soon as possible.

Heading down the hallway he saw Titania, hair unbound and her axe in hand, wearing only the breastplate of her armour.

“You too, hmm?” she asked.

Soren didn’t look at her and kept on walking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

())CRAYOLA))>

They stepped outside the castle gates just in time to see Ike collapse, Greil slumped over one shoulder. Titania was the first to reach them, screaming for Rhys, dropping to her knees beside Greil. Her hands found his cheeks, patted gently. His eyes flickered open briefly but that was all. She shouted again for Rhys. The commander flinched, tried to raised one weak hand and failed. The paladin caught his hand and smiled even through her tears. Whispered something that only Greil seemed to hear. The man smiled gently and breathed his last.

The paladin broke down sobbing, clutching her commander’s body to her chest. Soren paused, unsure of what to do, and that in itself was a rarity. Ike had not moved from his place on the ground, still lying in the mud and the rain. He wasn’t dead, that was certain. His breathing was clearly visible. His clothing was not torn; the only blood seemed to be from his father.

Cautiously, Soren picked his way through the bloodied ground and stood near Ike. The blue-haired man turned his head and looked briefly at him. As Soren was about to crouch down, offer a hand, he was pushed aside by Boyd. The fighter was down in the mud without a second thought, offering his help. Soren cursed internally. Why hadn’t he done that?

Things seemed to go numb. Soren stood there dumbly, unable to think, only to simply observe. Oscar had his arms around Titania, was whispering something to her. Gradually the paladin was letting go of the commander’s body. Boyd and Mia crouched next to Ike, their hurried, hushed words having no effect in Soren’s mind. Somewhere nearby Rhys and Rolf were comforting Mist. Shinon was perched on top of the gates, keeping watch. Gatrie stood obediently on the ground beneath him.

An hour later everyone else was inside. Ike hadn’t moved from his spot on the ground, opting only to sit up instead of lay in the mud. The rain had washed away the blood and dirt. It poured down relentlessly.

“Ike.”

The other man looked up, tired eyes meeting Soren’s. The mage knelt in the mud. Carefully he reached out for Ike.

“Come inside,” he murmured. “You’re going to get sick.”

Ike nodded, water dripping from his features. He didn’t speak. Didn’t seem able to.

Gently, Soren wrapped an arm around Ike. “Come to bed, Ike.”

Ike nodded again, still not speaking. His limbs were stiff and he stumbled as they stood, very nearly sending them back into the mud. The shuffle back to the castle was slow but steady. Soren guided the ranger to his room, stripped him of his clothing and dried him off.

“Sleep,” he murmured, wrapping a blanket around Ike and leading him to his bed.

“Stay with me.” The ranger’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“I need to—”

“Please.” Ike caught hold of Soren’s hand as the mage stood. “I…”

Soren sighed softly and sat down next to the ranger. “Not for long.”

Ike nodded, placed his head in Soren’s lap. The mage’s fingers found their way into the other man’s hair.

“Are you alright?” he asked after a moment. Ike shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” The ranger shrugged. “It’s my fault. I didn’t step in. I could have stopped things.”

Soren frowned and caught Ike’s chin, tilting the ranger’s face up. “Look at me. If you had stepped in you’d be dead. Mist would have nobody.” He paused and cursed the colour that rose to his cheeks. “I would have nobody. Look at Titania; she’s a wreck, and Greil was simply her commander. If you were gone I’m not entirely sure what I would do.”

“Hate everyone and everything, just like you did before,” Ike murmured. His arms found their way around Soren’s shoulders and he pulled the sage down next to him. Soren flushed. “Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t sleep.” He sighed. “I’d see you again soon enough.”

The thought was a depressing one. Soren didn’t say anything, just let Ike undress him, pull him close.

“Thank you for staying with me,” Ike finally whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t.”

“Fall into severe depression and get sick,” Soren replied bitterly.

“Thank you,” Ike repeated, burrowing into the crook of Soren’s neck.

The mage let his lips curve into a smile.

())CRAYOLA))>

The service was held at sunrise the next day. Rhys nearly couldn’t finish speaking. His hands were trembling, his voice cracked. Somehow he managed. For the entire service, Ike stood behind Mist, hands on her shoulders in that big-brother way. No tears marred his face. Just that same numb expression he had worn the previous night.

Mist hurried off the moment Rhys was finished praying. Rolf followed her. Shinon and Gatrie were nowhere to be found. Oscar and Boyd meandered inside, one of them on either side of Titania. Soren stood, dutifully, next to his new commander. Mia sighed softly and placed a hand on Ike’s shoulder.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost somebody because of all this,” she murmured. “If you need someone to talk to, you know where my room is.”

Ike grunted something that might have been a reply. Mia sighed and trudged off.

())CRAYOLA))>

 Things proceeded to head downhill at a rate that was almost alarming. A cursing Boyd returned with Oscar (when had they left?), declaring that Shinon and Gatrie were gone for good. Ike had groaned and buried his head in his hands; Soren had pointed out that units who didn’t listen would have been useless anyways. The commander had muttered something into his elbows. Mist still wouldn’t come out of her room. She and Rolf had been talking for hours, checked in on occasionally by Rhys. Anyone else she refused entry.

At least in terms of supplies, things were going well. The merchant caravan they had met was well-stocked with weapons, items, and what seemed like far too much food for only four people. Still, the prices were fair despite their insistence that their food was not for sale, and after an hour of shopping and bargaining Soren had spent only half of their gold on new weapons for everyone. Satisfied, he hurried off to find Ike. He smiled as the ranger came into view, the man’s left eye twitching just slightly. The room was empty and Soren took the opportunity to snake his arms around the other man’s waist. Ike jumped slightly.

“You’re tired,” Soren murmured, pressing his cheek between Ike’s shoulder blades. “Go find a cot somewhere and rest. I can handle things for a few marks.”

“I’m not—”

“Your left eye twitches when you’re not feeling well.” Soren squeezed gently.

Ike turned and gave him a funny look. “That’s…odd. I’d never noticed.”

The mage smiled and stood on his toes, coiling his arms around Ike’s neck. “Go.”

For the first time since his father’s death, Ike smiled. He wrapped his arms around Soren’s waist and kissed him. Soren sighed contentedly and Ike delved in, smoothing his tongue over the other man’s.

“You know what, Soren? Deep down, you’re just a great big softie.”

The mage’s eyes narrowed but he chose to ignore the comment. “Mm. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Ike’s smile didn’t waver. He kissed Soren one last time, soft and sweet. “I love you,” he breathed.

“You too.”

 ())CRAYOLA))>

“Teach me to use a Heal staff.”

It wasn’t a question, it was an order. Rhys nodded.

())CRAYOLA))>

Nightfall was hell.

Ike had just woken up from his nap. Soren had joined him halfway through, not bothering to remove his robes but simply climbing into bed and pressing himself against the other man. Now they were rushing outside, dragging people along as they went and ordering the merchants to stay hidden inside. It was raining again and Soren issued the warning that a slip on the mud could mean a broken leg.

They fought. Not perfectly, but enough to hold off Daein for the time being. Reinforcements were brought in but they continued to fight. It wasn’t worth it to die now.

A lucky shot was what had nearly ended everything. A myrmidon sneaking about, hiding the shadows of corpses and clouds and rain. His blood-covered sword shot forward like lightning.

Soren had to blink a few times. It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, or an aftereffect of the Thunder magic he had just been caught in the middle of. Anything but the truth.

As Ike fell, Soren began running. He didn’t recall shouting for Rhys but the older man was there, his white robes spattered with blood and mud. Mia cut down the myrmidon almost effortlessly and stood guard, one girl between her wounded commander and imminent death. Soren made a mental note to promote her as soon as possible.

He collapsed on the ground next to Ike, assessing the bleeding, the location of the wound, the difficulty the man had breathing. The odds of living and how much magical effort it would take to heal such a wound. Numbers and calculations flowed through his head as they always did until Rhys held his staff over Ike with one hand and wrapped the other around Soren. Abruptly the thoughts stopped.

“Don’t think,” Rhys murmured. “Feel.”

Soren’s hand met the priest’s on the Heal staff and willed his magic through it, just as Rhys had told him. The blood stopped and flesh stitched itself back together and suddenly his vision was swimming. Rhys dropped the staff and put out both hands to steady him and he relaxed, letting them both pitch forward into the bloody ground.

())CRAYOLA))>

He woke with a start, thrown from a realm of nightmares and blood and meaningless shapes into one of truth and spirits and Ike. The commander jumped and then smiled, squeezing Soren’s hand.

“We’ve all been worried sick,” he whispered. “Are you alright?”

“My magic power was drained temporarily,” Soren informed him. “As of right now I estimate my reserves to be at sixty percent their regul—”

Ike’s lips cut him off, warm and gentle. “I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “When I can’t understand a word you’re saying I know that you’re feeling well.”

“I love you,” Soren murmured. His lips twisted into a smirk. “Did you understand that?”

Ike grinned ferally. “I don’t believe that I did,” he purred. “Perhaps you should demonstrate.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“Thank you.”

Rhys jumped slightly and turned, Heal staff in one hand. Soren stood in the doorway, a stack of parchment in his right hand and a quill in the other. The priest smiled.

“No trouble at all, really. I’m impressed. Nobody should be able to heal a wound that large by themselves the first time they use a staff in combat. You did a marvellous job.”

The mage’s expression didn’t shift. “Thank you,” he repeated. “Do you require anything from the convoy?”

Rhys shook his head.

“Anything as payment for your lesson?” When Rhys paused to consider, Soren’s crimson eyes narrowed just slightly. “Well?”

“One thing and I’ll never ask again,” Rhys murmured, stomach twisting into nervous knots. He stepped forward and caught the sage’s chin with one hand, tilting his face upward. “J-just once…may I?”

“Once.”

Their lips met gently. Hovered that way for just a second, and then Rhys pulled away, flushed.

“Goodnight, Soren.”

The sage nodded his reply as he left the room. As he walked toward his and Ike’s room, he couldn’t help but feel that single beam of hope. Someone else wanted him. A filthy Branded that had been

( _abusedrapedruined)_

left behind for years.

It was a thought to keep in mind.


	4. In which Kieran falls in love...again

 It had seemed like a bad idea at the time. Cutting through a prison like this had seemed like Ike’s Worst Idea Ever. Guards and soldiers and prisoners. The place was swarming with people, some intent on protecting their general and the prison, others intent on just surviving until tomorrow. The first prisoner they had met was still strong, still fighting. He had only been here for three days.

Oscar frowned as the color red caught the corner of his eye. In a place as dark and depressing as this prison, red couldn’t be something natural. For a split second his hopes were drawn up, but he quickly pushed them aside.

_The odds of this are far, far too low._

The shout shattered the quiet, and Oscar sighed.

“RIVAL!”

What followed was a string of words that was so rushed nobody could quite understand what was being said. Ike cocked an eyebrow as he cut through another soldier.

“Do you know that man?” he asked.

“Yes. He’s an old friend. Haven’t seen him in two years.” Oscar sighed again. “He’ll be wanting to join us, now. His sworn rival is fighting so naturally he’s got to best me.”

“I…see?”

The green-haired knight nodded. “It’s ridiculous, really. But…more fighting strength, right?”

“Whatever you say,” Ike replied. He was pushed aside by the red-armoured knight and scowled. “Hey—! Now wait a moment—”

The redhead ignored him. “Rival! At last, the day of reckoning has come!”

“Reckoni—?”

“Long days have passed in this cell but now I, Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran, have freed myself! Never a day did I fear! For I knew that at long last—”

“Kieran.” Oscar smiled and held out a hand to the redhead. “I’m glad you’re alright. Now come on. Henry can carry both of us but you’ll need to hold on, and tight. We’re not done fighting yet.” As Kieran’s arms settled around his waist he smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“You said that already.” The redhead’s voice had calmed slightly. “Ride.”

Oscar smiled. “Sir.” 

())CRAYOLA))> 

“So _you_ are Kieran.”

The axe knight spun around, nearly walloping Rhys in the head with the flat of his axe. The priest dove for cover and raised his Heal staff as protection against the knight’s weapon.

“Watch where you’re swinging _dear goddess, what have you done_?”

“What do you—?”

“Your head is _bleeding_!”

Kieran struck a pose. “Bah! ‘Tis only a flesh wound! A true Royal Crimean Knight fears nothing! Not flesh wounds nor giant squids! Why, this reminds me of the time that I fought the Great Pomegranate of Begn—”

The Heal staff tapped him directly on the wound and he flinched. “ _Do_ shut up,” Rhys sighed. “It’s hard enough to…” he shut his eyes and focused. Kieran’s scalp stitched itself back together. “…there you are.”

“Excellent! Now I must be off once more to train with my rival—” Kieran broke off mid-sentence. “How _did_ you know who I was? Spies? _Squinty_ spies? The treachery! I thought you to be a good man—”

Rhys walloped Kieran over the head with his staff. “Oscar talks about you in his sleep. I’ve helped him in the kitchens and he tells all sorts of stories about your…battles together.” He chuckled; the knight’s cheeks were just barely pink. “It’s nothing but good stories. He thinks quite highly of you.”

Kieran smiled. His face was deep red now. “Well, the feeling’s mutual, I suppose.”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow and let his lips curve into a smirk. “Then make sure you keep the door barred at night. Wouldn’t do any good if one of the younger ones walked in.”

By the time Kieran managed to stop blinking and start yelling, Rhys was long gone.

())CRAYOLA))> 

The inn they were staying at was cramped. Incredibly cramped. Four-people-to-a-room cramped. Ike-Soren-Mia-together-in-a-room cramped, which didn’t bode well for anyone’s moods in the morning at all. No-floor-space-so-everyone-needed-to-share-the-beds cramped.

This was where the problem started.

Rolf refused to bunk with Boyd under the declaration that Boyd kicked in his sleep. Kieran refused to sleep with anyone unfitting of the name ‘rival’. Boyd just gave dirty looks to everyone who suggested he share a bed.

Oscar finally shoved the beds together and hoisted Rolf onto the mattress. With what might have been a battle cry and might have been his voice cracking he dove on top of his youngest brother, tickling mercilessly. Rolf screeched and flailed. Kieran cocked an eyebrow as Boyd leaped into the fray, attacking Oscar and effectively causing a rather girly shriek to erupt from the oldest brother’s mouth. Soren pounded on the wall and shouted for them to shut up already, but Mia shouted something back and they were once again ignored.

It looked too fun to resist.

And in the end, there was something about being pinned down by Oscar and tickled mercilessly that brought things back. The only night they’d ever had together, spent curled in a tangle of limbs. That taste. It had lingered on his lips for hours after Oscar had left. The few times they’d reunited had left the same taste on his lips, the same rush of blood to his cheeks and the lightheaded feeling that came with being with Oscar

 _He doesn’t love you anymore_.

The thought hurt but it had to be the truth. As Oscar finally got up and let him roll onto his back, panting, he smiled. The lance knight’s eyes met his (presumably; the squint always made it hard to tell) and Oscar smiled back.

“We ought to sleep. We’ve got a ship to catch tomorrow.”

“Bah! A true Crimean Royal Knight never sleeps! He only waits!”

“We’ll get cold without you.”

Kieran paused to consider. Oscar smiled as Rolf burrowed against him. Boyd rolled onto his side as far away from everyone as he could get. There was just enough room on the other side of Oscar.

“Only because you’ll freeze without me.” He crawled into bed, pulling the blanket up as he went. Oscar’s arm was extended and Kieran lay on it, using the other man’s (wonderfully built) shoulder as a pillow. Oscar turned his head until his lips were barely brushing Kieran’s forehead.

“Sleep well,” he breathed.

It took all Kieran’s willpower not to kiss Oscar then and there.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Kieran woke up to giggling and retching. Oscar was sighing.

“Boyd, you do the same thing to Rolf,” he was saying. “Some people just hug in their sleep. I’ve seen it happen countless times. Now go get breakfast. I know how to wake him up. It’ll be fine.”

The brothers wandered off, Rolf still giggling and Boyd muttering under his breath. Kieran finally opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” Oscar greeted him. “Sleep well?”

“You talk in your sleep. Rolf flails in his sleep. Boyd snores a bit like Geoffrey does.”

“Loudly and horribly?”

“Incredibly so.” Kieran shrugged. He noticed that his hand had snuck beneath the hem of Oscar’s shirt sometime in the night and chose to ignore it, instead savouring the toned muscle beneath this fingers. The hope of Oscar not noticing was crushed as the lance knight spoke.

“Don’t have too much fun, there. You won’t fight properly if you’re distracted.”

Kieran flushed. “Rival! How dare you infer that I will fight in a distracted manner? This is some sort of squinty, cowardly trick to—”

“Do shut up.” Oscar grinned and sat up. “All you had to do was ask.”

“A-ask for wh-what?” Damn the nervous stutter.

Oscar’s shirt was off, and quite suddenly at that. The lance knight lay back down.

“I missed you,” he murmured. “So, so much.”

“R-rival?”

“S-so much.”

The gap between them closed.

Kieran wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened. But Oscar was leaning over him, kissing him. Fingers crept under his shirt and slid it upward and they broke apart just long enough for Kieran to fling the shirt onto the floor. Oscar was on top of him now, kissing him desperately, hands roaming over his chest. Fingers tracing new scars, lingering over old ones. Lips on his neck, his throat. He couldn’t help the moan, couldn’t help letting his hands wander over Oscar’s body, exploring new scars, old scars. Here, where a sword had pierced his stomach, and here, where an arrow had entered his arm.

“I love you,” he found himself whispering. Oscar froze for a moment. Kieran frowned; had that been the wrong thing to say?

“I love you,” the lance knight replied. His lips were gentle this time, his tongue just barely touching Kieran’s bottom lip.

That needed to change.

Kieran’s lips parted and he pulled Oscar close and they were kissing again. Passionately might have been the right word for it. Regaining what two years had taken away.

“Oscar, Kieran, if you’re going to eat—”

Kieran jumped and Oscar leaned up just enough to let them both look at the door. Regardless, they didn’t let go of one another. Rhys flushed.

“Pardon me,” he muttered as he left the room, shutting the door. A moment later it burst open again. “No, wait, this is important.”

“Just spit it out, Rhys,” Oscar sighed. “How much time do we have?”

“Breakfast ends in five minutes because we’ll need to start bringing supplies to the ship. Ranulf’s found somewhere for us to go and he guarantees us safe passage to Begnion.” The priest smiled. “And from what I’ve heard, there’s plenty of places to sneak off to on the ship. Now get up, get dressed. Armour if you think you’ll need it.”

“Thank you, Rhys,” Oscar said, sitting up. “I appreciate your telling us.”

“It was either me or Boyd. I’ve done you both a favour.” Rhys chuckled and left, shouting down the hallway as he went. “IKE! You owe me fifty gold!”

())CRAYOLA))>

The sound of Kieran complaining was what had ultimately led Oscar to find the knight. Shouting and pounding on walls and the unmistakable sound of Rhys becoming more and more flustered and the sound of Mist getting more and more agitated.

“This is _nonsense_! A true Crimean Royal Knight can kill two stones with one bird! He has no fear of pain nor death and—”

There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like Mist walloping Kieran over the head with her staff. Oscar poked his head in the room just in time to see Rhys chuckling and patting Mist on the arm. Kieran was on the cot, twitching. Mist looked up and huffed.

“He started it,” she said defensively. “All this nonsense about Crimean Knights and being too good for a Heal staff. It’s ridiculous. If you’re bleeding and you shouldn’t be, then get healed.”

Oscar smiled and rumpled her hair gently. “Well, he’s always been stubborn. His father was a knight, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather before that. It’s in his blood to be…enthusiastic.”

“It’s _stupid_. Tell him that if he wants his necklace back, I’ll only give it to him if he agrees to have his sprains healed.”

Oscar froze. “Mist…take something else. That’s quite important to him.”

“Then it’s motivation for him to—”

“ _Mist_.” His voice was firm and, he hoped, not threatening. The same tone he’d used with his brothers when they were younger. She sighed and reached into her pocket. A moment later she withdrew the chain and handed it to the knight.

“Then make sure he doesn’t walk. His left leg is really banged up.”

“Of course. Why don’t you go start dinner? Nasir’s in the kitchens already; I’m sure he could use some help. I’ll be there shortly.”

Mist nodded and replaced her staff by the door. “Alright. Be quick.” She darted off. Rhys smiled.

“She’s certainly gotten better at healing,” he said. “I’m proud of her.”

“How is he?” Oscar asked. Kieran was stirring now. Rhys laughed.

“Stubborn. He’ll listen to you, though, I’m sure.” Now the priest had a dirty grin on his face. Oscar swatted him.

“Don’t you give me that look.”

“I’m happy for you,” Rhys said, placing his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. “After two years you’re back together. And enjoying each other’s company very much, if this morning is anything to go by. I’m glad that you’re together again.” He squeezed. “See? This war’s brought some good after all.”

“I suppose.”

“He’s waking up. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I’ll help Mist in the kitchen until you come back.”

Oscar didn’t have a chance to reply; the other man was gone.

“R-rival?’ Kieran blinked a few times, and then his eyes shot open. “Aha! I should have known that you were behind all this!”

“Be quiet,” Oscar replied. “Your leg is in terrible condition and they’ve left it that way to try and teach you a lesson. You’re not permitted to walk for another few days.”

“Days?! Hah! A true Royal Crimean Knight—”

“Shut up.” Oscar smiled, leaned in. His face grew warm. “Kiss me?”

“Please let me.”

It was still cute. Quiet, almost-shy Kieran, closing the gap between them and pulling him close. Kissing him deeply, gently, thoroughly.

“I missed you,” Oscar finally managed to murmur. “I’m so glad I found you again.”

“I’m glad you found me,” Kieran replied. “I love you.”

Oscar smiled, pressed himself ever closer to the other man. “I love you too, Kieran.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

Mist sighed heavily and poked Rhys in the sides. Her question drew laughter from Nasir.

“It’s been an hour. Where’s Oscar?”


	5. In which Soren is confronted

“Good morning.”

What might have been a greeting and was probably the remnant of snoring met Soren’s ears. He sighed and pinched Ike’s nose. The commander snorted and jerked away. Soren’s lips curved into a smile and Ike gave him a dirty look.

“Uncalled for,” he muttered.

“Completely called for. You’re supposed to help make breakfast. Mist has already been in here once looking for you.”

“She’s been _what_?”

Soren sighed. “Ike, she’s known for almost a year. She’s not stupid. I’m sure she’s got some questions but it’s natural. She’ll be thirteen soon anyways.” He smiled. “When I was briefing everyone about the war she was there. You took my hand. She didn’t care. She knows that we’re together and out of everyone in the company I think she is the most enthusiastic because she’s happy you’ve finally found someone.”

“She’s still a kid—”

“Not since three months ago.”

Ike frowned. “What do you…oh. _Oh_.” He made a face. “How do you _learn_ these things?”

“I make notes based on personality changes over the course of several weeks and compare them to fully matured women such as Titania, Aimee, and Mia.” Then Soren leaned down, dropping a kiss on Ike’s brow. “Relax. It’s part of growing up. Next time she’s in a bad mood give her a hug and take her shopping. And don’t worry about bringing us up, either. She’ll talk about it with you when she’s ready.”

“Alright,” Ike said sulkily. He cocked an eyebrow. “Why am _I_ supposed to be helping with breakfast?”

“Because Oscar is busy taking care of Kieran. The man won’t listen to anyone else. So you’re taking Oscar’s place because Nasir is on deck being the captain of this ship, and everyone else is helping them.”

Ike grumbled something incomprehensible and Soren sighed again. A knock came at the door.

“It’s Rhys,” the priest said, still not opening the door. “Mist would really like some help with breakfast.” Then the door cracked open. The man’s hand came in, holding Ike’s shirt and one of Soren’s belts. “ _These_ ,” he said sternly, “were in the hallway. If you’re going to undress then wait another ten feet before doing it.”

“You don’t care when you’re horny,” Ike said, tugging his pants on. “You can come in. We’re decent.” He chuckled as his shirt flew into his face. “What am I helping make for breakfast?”

“Hopefully something edible,” Soren muttered, pulling on his outer robes. “Don’t poison us. Nasir will have a fit about his precious ship being vomited on.”

“You’re hilarious.” Ike made a face and dropped a kiss on Soren’s forehead. “I’ll be in the kitchens.” He turned to leave, but Rhys caught him by the ends of his headband and pulled him back.

“Ahem.” He pointed to the younger man’s throat and exposed chest. “What will everyone think when they see those?”

Soren snorted. Ike blushed. Rhys sighed.

“As if people didn’t wonder enough about your relationship.” He picked up Soren’s Heal staff even as the sage grumbled about unnecessary expenses, healed the bruising. They healed nearly all the way, but Ike placed a hand over Rhys’ and shook his head. The priest sighed and pulled the staff away. The bite marks remained as scars, and Rhys tutted. “You young people and your sex lives.”

Soren glared at him and Ike turned red. “I’m off to the kitchens I’ll see you both later.”

He was gone in an instant.

“How do you manage to do that to him?” Rhys asked, handing the staff back to Soren.

“He doesn’t notice. Maybe he likes it. I don’t know.”

“How would he not notice? If someone had their teeth clamped down on one of my shoulders I’d think that there would be a significant amount of pain.”

He didn’t get to say anything else. Soren pushed him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. Lips pressed against his as he inhaled and the sage’s tongue slid into his mouth, tasting him. Far rougher than Rhys would have expected from the smaller man. He was helpless as Soren kissed him, arms wrapping around him, fingers digging into his back. This was passion, and it was wrong.

Rhys pushed against Soren but the sage stood his ground. Clinging almost desperately to him.

He was surprised when he found himself kissing back. Hands tentatively moving the Soren’s shoulders, then around the sage, into his dark hair. Sharp teeth nipped at his bottom lip. The sage’s mouth trailed across his cheek, his neck. Another sharp nip followed by lips and tongue. His collar came undone and Soren dove for the exposed skin, sucking, biting, always gentle. Fingers tangled in his hair and tugged. Rhys couldn’t help but moan. The sage’s teeth dug in on the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Rhys felt them pierce his skin. A sharp pain and that was it. Blood rushed to his head and he gripped Soren’s shoulders.

“Soren…”

Soren ignored him, gently kissing the abrasions left by his teeth, lapping up the blood. Rhys’ fingers were still in his hair and he was panting. Soren chose to ignore the priest’s arousal.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, pulling away, doing up the other man’s collar, pressing one more kiss to Rhys’ bruised lips.

“Soren…”

“Did it?”

Rhys blinked, and then shook his head. “I…but you…”

“Get a vulnerary on that,” Soren replied. “I’ll overlook such a use only once.”

He was gone before Rhys could say anything else.

())CRAYOLA))>

“Why did you leave it?”

It had been a week. Soren had cornered Rhys in one of the storage rooms, barred the door behind him. The priest had jumped, fumbled with his staff and very nearly dropped it. It would have cost eight hundred gold to replace, Soren’s mind informed him dutifully.

“It serves as a reminder that I am not to make a mistake like this again,” Rhys replied, straightening his collar. “A scar is a good way to remember, isn’t it? That’s why Ike chooses to keep his scars rather than letting me heal them all the way.”

“You’re calling it a mistake? You kissed me back.”

“And that was the mistake! I kissed you once and you’re happy with someone else! And then I question something and you force yourself on me? I don’t know what happens in your head but I assure you that I will not jeopardize your relationship.” Rhys pushed past Soren. “If you split, fine. But until that point—”

“You were aroused.”

The words caught in Rhys’ throat. His face flushed.

“What does it matter? It’s a natural response.”

“What if Ike had kissed you? Shinon? Titania?” Soren couldn’t help but smirk. “The fact remains that it was me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“You let it go to yours.”

Rhys let out a sigh. “Just forget it happened, alright?”

“No.”

How had Soren gotten so close? It didn’t matter. He looped his arms around Rhys’ neck and pulled him down, kissing him. Rhys pulled away.

“You’re cheating on him, you know.”

That made Soren let go. “I am not.”

Rhys shook his head and took the sage’s hands in his own.

“Soren, if you’re willing to kiss someone you’ll eventually be willing to do everything. Isn’t that how things worked out between you and Ike in the first place?”

Soren was silent. Rhys smiled gently.

“Maybe one day. Maybe never. I got to kiss you once and that was enough. I’ll bear your scar for the rest of my life. You’re happy with Ike, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then stay with him. Be faithful to him. Forget that this happened.” He lightly pecked the sage on the cheek. “Alright? That’s the last one.”

“No,” Soren whispered. Gently, he kissed Rhys again, tongue just barely brushing the taller man’s lips. Rhys moaned softly and kissed him back, languidly tussling for dominance. Neither won; they simply kissed. Brought forward a passion that might have been. Finally Soren pulled away.

“Thank you,” he whispered. For what, Rhys didn’t know. He simply smiled and tightened his hold on the other man.

“Go,” he replied. “Won’t do any good if we both walk out of here at the same time.”

Soren nodded curtly. “Of course. Keep well. We’ll be landing in Begnion in a few days’ time. We’ll need you should there be any more attacks.”

“Mm. Go.”

Soren nodded once more, and was gone.

())CRAYOLA))>

“Soren?”

Ike doesn’t have time to ask what’s going on. Soren has him by the wrist, is dragging him back to their room. The door is barred behind him and he is pulled onto their bed, kissed roughly. Ike smiles; he’s always loved this side of Soren. The aggressiveness that nobody else got to see and live to tell.

“So soon?” he asks, shrugging his shirt off and nuzzling Soren’s neck.

“Sudden overwhelming urge,” Soren replies. “I love you, Ike.”

The ranger smiles and presses kisses along the sage’s neck, undoing the other man’s robes as he goes. “I love you, Soren.”

Soren gasps as his robes are removed, as Ike’s teeth graze a nipple. “I love you.”

Ike lets out a moan as Soren sucks on his fingers. “I love you.”

It’s gentle this time. Not like last night, hard and fast and frequent. This is slow and passionate and _love_. Unspoken promises of forever. Ike whispers against Soren’s ear and Soren pants into the darkness of their windowless room until finally they are both sated and collapse against one another.

“I love you,” Soren breathes, pulling Ike close and tenderly kissing the scars from earlier.

“I love you too,” Ike replies. His hands find Soren’s and he kisses the sage’s fingers one by one. “I always will.”

Soren flushes; Ike has never said this before. Ike’s skin heats and he buries his face in Soren’s hair, inhaling deeply.

“You don’t mean that,” Soren whispers. Ike shakes his head.

“I do. I will always love you, Soren. Never forget that. I would gladly be with you forever.”

They are silent after this. Soren falls asleep blushing.


	6. In which a plot develops

The mercenary company that he’d joined at Port Toha had a terrifying tendency to grow without warning.

Sothe had noticed this with a slight twitch and a groan. The company had been big enough when he’d been caught on the ship when they left Crimea. Three sword users (because Mia couldn’t be shoved into the category ‘swordsmen’), three mounted knights, two healers, two mages (one terrifying and one hungry), an axe fighter, an archer, a pegasus knight, a halberdier, another thief and a knight. And _sub-humans._ And now him.

Nineteen should have been enough.

But apparently it wasn’t. Commander Ike brought in people like spring brought in flowers. When the ship had run aground in Goldoa he’d recruited a wyvern rider from Daein _and_ managed to escape the sub-human country unscathed. Hell, he’d even managed to speak to the prince of the place and get their supplies refreshed.

When they’d run into a pirate vessel he’d recruited (re-recruited? Sothe wasn’t entirely sure) another knight, dragging along some inept archer on a horse as he went.

Then there had been the mounted swordsman. His sister threw a never-ending stream of insults at him and refused to pay off his debts. He had a gambling problem, it seemed, and Sothe couldn’t wait to show him some tricks from the slums.

The swordmaster was eerie. He kept to himself and seemed to be amused by how the sub-humans avoided him. His ability to pop up from nowhere was terrifying, at best. And he seemed intent on harassing Ike’s staff officer to no end.

Another sub-human. When Sothe had questioned it, Ike had smacked him across the back of the head.

“They’re laguz, not sub-humans,” he had snapped. “I don’t want to hear you speak of them in such a way ever again.”

Sothe realized rather quickly that the entire company was this way.

Then there was the mage. The loud and annoying and full-of-himself mage that seemed hell-bent on becoming the best friends that had ever walked Tellius. The mage that had eaten his rations and then not even bothered to make up a decent excuse. The mage didn’t _knock_ , and since he had doors and his own room (for now, anyways), Sothe found this to be particularly annoying.

Had he mentioned that the mage was a hugger? It was like he had a battle plan for everything that consisted of two steps: bursting into the room and pouncing on the inhabitant.

Which was what he was doing now.

As the mage landed on him, sending them both sprawling onto his bed, Sothe couldn’t help but pick up on a thing or two. The force of the hug hadn’t been nearly what it regularly was. They’d been sent sprawling, yes; that was the sort of thing that happened when someone jumped on you. The landing hadn’t been painful, though (and he had the bruises to prove that the other three landings had been) and the mage tensed as they landed.

“You’re hurt,” Sothe said, sitting up and rubbing his jarred shoulder. “What did you do?”

The mage made a face. “I’m fine. Happens all the time.”

“Sprained ankle?”

The mage looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“You didn’t send us flying into any walls this time,” Sothe replied. “Your name is Tormod, right?”

The mage nodded. “Yup! And you’re Sothe!”

“Mm.” Sothe dug through his pouches and pulled out a reasonably clean length of fabric. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine,” Tormod objected, but he tugged off his boot and rested his injured foot in Sothe’s lap. The thief’s eyes widened when he saw the damage. Tormod grinned sheepishly. “Could be worse.”

“It would only be worse if it were broken. You ought to get Rhys or Mist to look at this.”

“It’s not a worry. I’m used to walking on—ow! What are you doing!?” Tormod tried to pull away but Sothe dug his fingers in. Pain jolted up the mage’s leg and he immediately held still. The thief smirked.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m trying to help.” He handed a vulnerary to the other teen. “Drink about a third of that and then give me the rest.”

“But these taste like death.”

“That damage is on the inside and not the outside,” Sothe pointed out. “You’ve gotta drink some and then let the rest soak in through your skin. Now drink it, you pansy.”

“I am not a pansy!”

“Pussy.”

Tormod made a face and immediately downed a mouthful of the potion. Sothe couldn’t help but laugh at the look on the mage’s face. Sulking, Tormod handed the rest back to Sothe, who soaked the bandage and then began cleanly wrapping it around the mage’s ankle.

“Fggin’ hrts,” Tormod muttered. Sothe sighed.

“Think about food,” he replied. “Dinner’s soon anyways.”

“And I’ll be running to the hall as soon as I can once you’re finished with this.”

“Oh no you won’t.” Sothe smirked. “Walking is only going to prolong your pain. Get that su—laguz to carry you around.”

Tormod’s face fell. “He’s…he’s not around. When he heard about the slave traders that Ike dealt with the other day…he was furious. He’s out right now. Probably won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

“So he’s left his son with people he doesn’t know?”

Tormod brightened slightly. “Muarim’s like that. I know that he’s had some bad experiences but he trusts the commander. He told me once that he can smell someone’s intentions. Comes with being a slave for so long.”

“He was a slave? Those were outlawed years ago.”

“Laguz live longer than beorc do. He remembers. Still carries the habits. Does that have to be so tight?”

“Yes, it does.”

“I don’t think I could walk on this even if I wanted to,” Tormod admitted after a moment. He paused, thinking. “Help me up. I won’t put any weight on it.”

Sothe frowned, standing and dragging the mage with him. Tormod smiled, hopped behind the thief, and placed a hand on either shoulder.

“Catch me!”

Sothe chuckled as the mage vaulted onto his back and he caught the redhead’s legs. Tormod’s chin rested on his shoulder and the mage inhaled deeply. Briefly Sothe wondered if Tormod had the same animalistic tendencies as his caregiver, and then shook his head.

“Dinner hall?” he asked. Tormod squeezed his sides with his knees.

“Onward!”

())CRAYOLA))>

“Look at that.”

Rhys grinned as he whispered. Kieran raised an eyebrow and continued shovelling food into his mouth.

“Vut?”

Rhys brushed crumbs off his robes and pointed a few seats across and down. “Isn’t it obvious?” He smiled and speared a few vegetables with his fork.

“They’re becoming sworn rivals?”

The priest chuckled. “In the same sense that you and Oscar are sworn rivals.”

Kieran turned a peculiar shade of red. “Ours is a rivalry that shall never be tested! One that shall—”

“Oh, shut up.” Oscar smiled from his place beside Kieran. “Eat your bread; I spent all afternoon helping the kitchen staff.”

“I can see it happening, though,” Ike considered from two seats down. “Sothe’s a bit of a loner and Tormod…isn’t.”

“That mage will leap upon anything that comes his way,” Soren muttered, picking at his food. “It’s a miracle that Sothe hasn’t been—”

Rhys slapped a hand over Soren’s mouth before the sage could finish. Almost immediately Soren bit his fingers and he jerked away, making a face.

“Just let things happen as they’re meant to,” Oscar said, smiling. “Meddling never ends well.”

They agreed and all five chuckled (except for Soren, whose lips curved only slightly upward) as Tormod stole food from Sothe’s plate.

())CRAYOLA))>

Tormod woke up as he was unceremoniously deposited on his bed. The last thing he remembered was being out in one of the courtyards, staring up at the sky and sighing as he felt the chill of night coming. And Sothe’s scarf, landing around his neck as he shivered.

“What was that for?” he asked, making a face.

“You were choking me,” Sothe replied. “You fell asleep.”

“Oh.” Tormod nodded. “Well, thanks for the lift. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Probably been stuck in my room all day and gotten really hungry, I guess. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. It was…fun.” Sothe smiled. “Keep rested. I’ll help you to breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“What if I’ve got to get up in the night?”

The thief made a face. “I am _not_ helping you pee.”

Tormod laughed. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d ask.”

Sothe grumbled to himself. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to bed. Give me my scarf back.”

The redhead smiled and wrapped it more firmly around him. “No. It’s warm and everywhere outside the desert is a freezing abyss.”

“You’d hate Daein,” Sothe replied, sitting on the edge of the mage’s bed. “We get a few feet of snow every winter. Birds wake up in the mornings and can’t fly because the frost has frozen their feet to tree branches. Doors can’t open because the ice and snow are piled up so high. Those of us in the slums…we sleep in the sewers to keep warm. All bunched together like baby mice.” He chuckled. “We don’t care about who’s in what guild…it’s better to live than to die. And you meet people. Interesting people. One of my friends is a swordsman, or at least he wants to be. He could use a lesson or six from the commander. Almost started something up with him but he’s only thirteen.”

Tormod was silent for a moment. “Started…something?”

“It’s called ‘a relationship’. It’s what people do when they’re interested in someone else.”

“With another boy.”

The thief shrugged. “We’re outcasts anyways. None of us have parents. We’ve got something of an older sister. She tells fortunes to bring in money. The rest of us just steal. Either way, nobody pays attention to those in the slums. Doesn’t matter if we’re straight or queer or into being tied up and whipped. People don’t give a shit about us.”

“It’s like us,” Tormod began slowly. He was twisting the ends of Sothe’s scarf in his hands; the thief smiled and pretended not to notice. “In the desert…we’re all outcasts. When we go to the nearest market to get food, people give us dirty looks. Doesn’t matter that the slaves were freed. They’re laguz. They’re different so people hate them. Muarim’s been taking me in and dropping me on the edge of town lately. They all know me; know where I’m taking the food, the medicine, the clothes. But…I’m like them. A beorc. They’ll sell to me if I can pay.

“But it I were to…be with a boy, or something like that…they’d think nothing of it. Say that it’s Muarim’s fault for raising me, and what a pity it is that I can’t have a normal life, and Goddess have mercy on that poor boy.” The mage sighed. He was still twisting Sothe’s scarf around his fingers. They were turning purple. Sothe reached out, took the fabric. Tormod jumped and Sothe took his hands, massaging until the blood circulated normally again.

“Y’know…there’s nothing wrong with me,” he finally said. “Yeah, I grew up in the slums. And sure, I’m into boys. That’s nobody’s fault. I’m not cursed by the goddess, I haven’t been corrupted by sinners. It’s not a mortal’s place to judge people anyways, or so the church says. So…I ignore it. I will fall in love if I want to and it’s nobody else’s business.” Sothe smiled. “And you can too.”

The redhead was silent, hands still wrapped in Sothe’s. “Muarim…I don’t know what happened. But he’s told me time and time again that I will grow up and meet a young woman and live happily. Normally. It’s like he’s got this image in his head of what’s supposed to happen to me. I…” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “I don’t know! I’ve never had the chance to be that way, y’know? We spend our time springing laguz slaves from noblemen’s houses. Not in town, looking at girls. I’ve never kissed anyone, I’ve never hugged anyone but my family, I’ve never held hands with anyone.”

“You are now,” Sothe replied. “How do you like it?”

Tormod began stammering. He didn’t pull away. “I—well—this—I mean—”

“It’s not a sin,” Sothe murmured. “I’ve read the books they have at church. The rules we’re told to live by. There are two things that those books do not say. The first is that a beorc and laguz cannot be together—whether it’s father and son or marriage. The second is that those of the same gender cannot be together. Do you understand? _Nowhere_ does it say that we will burn for eternity. _Nowhere_.”

“But people—”

“People are stupid.” Sothe chuckled. “They’ll do anything so long as they remain in favour with their neighbours. It’s the way they all are. That’s why I like it here. Everyone is honest. Brutally honest. And that priest? Rhys? He’s been with the church for years and years. And he knows about me. Maybe he’s the same way. I don’t know. All he did was greet me and say that he was there if I needed someone to talk to.” He smiled. “We’re lucky…that we have someone from the church who is so accepting.”

“Mm.” Tormod still hadn’t pulled away. Sothe smiled and lowered his lips to Tormod’s fingers.

“And I’m glad…because I would never have the courage to tell you that I like you otherwise.”

“Sothe?” The mage’s brown eyes were wide and now he tried to pull away. Sothe kept hold and kissed the tips of Tormod’s fingers.

“I like you.”

Tormod flushed. He leaned in, wrapped his arms around the thief, inhaled deeply. Sothe once again found himself wondering if Tormod had picked up animalistic tendencies, but that was impossible anyways; beorc couldn’t smell nearly as well as—

“You’re honest,” Tormod whispered against his neck. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.” _Please please please please please._

“I like you too.”

Sothe smiled. Pressed his forehead against Tormod’s. “Go to sleep. I’ll come get you when you wake up. Just shout. The sound of someone yelling at you to shut up is bound to wake me.”

Tormod nodded his agreement. Sothe stood, blew out the candle. Blankets rustled as the mage shifted. Sothe knelt down next to the bed, blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust to the low light.

“Sothe?”

The thief dropped his scarf next to the mage. “Sleep well,” he murmured, standing and leaving. “I’ll tell Muarim where your room is if I see him.”

Tormod didn’t bother telling him that Muarim would be able to sniff him out anyways. “Thanks,” he whispered. Sothe’s scarf was still warm.

It took him moments to fall asleep.

())CRAYOLA))>

Kisses, hot and wet, trailing down his neck. Silky hair pooled on his bare skin. Slender fingers peeling his shirt off, trailing down his stomach, removing his clothing until they were both naked, pressed against each other intimately. Lips trailed down his chest, his stomach, lower and lower still. A tongue flickered against the tip of his cock.

“I love you,” Soren murmured, fingers digging into the other man’s hips. His tongue trailed a languid line up the other man’s cock and flicked the tip again and—

Rhys jerked awake. He was sweating, although that was probably more from the fever than anything. It wasn’t particularly late; there was still a touch of light left in the sky from sundown. It was perhaps four marks to midnight. People were settling down for the night, Soren would be doing inventory, Ike would be dragging him off to bed.

The thought made him painfully aware of his own arousal. Rhys swore internally; whether to himself or to Soren he wasn’t sure. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to a holy man.

Still, he reached down, fingers ghosting over the path that dream-Soren’s lips had taken, lightly squeezing. He bit back a groan. It had been so long since he’d last done this.

Someone knocked once at the door and didn’t wait for a reply before barging in. Rhys jumped and pulled the blankets up.

Soren. Of course.

“Good, you’re awake.” The sage regarded him calmly. “Has your fever gone down?”

“I’m sweating,” Rhys replied. “It’s breaking.”

“Mm. Do you require anything from the convoy?”

“No.”

“Medicine?”

“Soup?” Rhys smiled slightly. “I’m hungry. If Oscar isn’t busy, ask him to make me something and to throw a few herbs in. He’ll know which ones.”

“Indeed.” Soren made a note on his parchment. His lips twitched upward. “And what about your other problem?”

Rhys felt his face heat up. “I have no other problems that I cannot deal with myself.”

“Oh?” Soren placed his parchment on the bedside table, quill resting neatly alongside it. He leaned in, one slender hand brushing against Rhys’. The priest felt his cock twitch and cursed softly.

“It’s not your place,” he murmured, knocking the other man’s hand away.

“Why not? You were doing it yourself, weren’t you?” Now Soren’s hands were sneaking under the blanket, fingers trailing feather-light touches over Rhys’ lower stomach. “What difference does it make?”

“You are seeing someone else,” Rhys insisted, knocking Soren’s hand away again. “If you’re going to do this, then break things off with him. I won’t get in between you like this.”

“It’s too late,” Soren hissed. His teeth found Rhys’ throat and he nipped sharply, drawing blood. His hand found the other man’s cock and he squeezed. Rhys moaned.

“Stop it,” he begged. He was too weak to fight in this state, he had no magic available. His staff wasn’t even close enough to grab and wallop the sage with. “Please don’t.”

Soren ignored him, continued pumping gently. Rhys gave in.

“Kiss me,” he breathed.

Soren obeyed, lips and tongue descending upon his own. Rhys moaned into the other man’s mouth, kissed him back. Felt the other man relax against him even as his hand moved faster.

Rhys bit down.

Soren jumped away. After a moment he spat blood. Rhys glared at him.

“This is not like you,” he said, sitting up and gathering the blankets around him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into your head but I don’t want to see you again until it’s been cleared up. Understood?”

“You are not my commander.”

“And you are not my lover. Get out.”

Soren hesitated. Perhaps if he hadn’t, things would have turned out better.

Ike. Stupid Ike who never knocked to begin with. Rhys cursed as his commander walked in. Saw him bare-chested, breathing heavily, still bleeding from the bite Soren had given him. Saw Soren kneeling next to his bed, a smudge of blood on his lips.

It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, was it?

Ike’s left eyebrow twitched and he nodded. “So that’s how it is, is it? Excuse me.”

“Ike, wait—”

“Excuse me.”

The door slammed shut.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Alright, what’s wrong?”

Ike continued picking at his food. “Nothing.”

Oscar made a face. “Horseshit. You’re hardly eating. You don’t get sick, so you can’t say that you’ve got an upset stomach. You try to eat when you’re worried but today you’re just picking at it. What’s wrong?”

“Leave me alone.”

“No. I can’t have my commander out of things right now. We’ve got to go investigate tomorrow so you need to be in peak condition.” Then Oscar smiled and placed a hand on Ike’s shoulder. “And you’re my friend. I worry about you. We’ve lived together for years; you’re like another sibling. I want to help you.”

“Soren fucked Rhys.” Ike paused. “Or maybe it was the other way around. I don’t know.”

“Come here.” Oscar stood, pulling Ike with him. A few minutes later they were in his room, booting out a surprised-looking and slightly agitated Kieran and barring the door. A moment later the knight was pounding on the door, demanding to be let in. Oscar’s jaw set and he unbarred the door, leaning into the hall. The knights murmured to each other for a moment and then Kieran was down the hall.

“Talk to me,” Oscar said, sitting down on his bed. Ike still stood next to it, refusing to sit down. Oscar smiled. “Please, Ike. Even if there’s nothing I can do to help, you’ll feel better after talking.”

“It’s not talking that I’m worried about.” Ike’s left eyebrow twitched; what was it that Soren had told him about that? Stress and being tired and the inevitability of tears, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

“Nothing leaves this room,” Oscar replied. “You’re my brother, Ike. I wouldn’t betray your trust.”

“I’ve been told the same thing before.”

“Ike.” Oscar stood. “I am not going to tell anyone. Not without your permission.”

Ike’s eyebrow twitched again. Oscar placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Ike was trembling.

“I walked in. Soren was supposed to be taking inventory and Rhys has been sick lately. Soren hadn’t come out so I assumed something had gone wrong. He doesn’t really help people if they’re sick unless he really needs to.” Ike tugged his shirt open and Oscar flushed. Hickeys and bite marks and scratches dotted Ike’s neck and collarbone, clearly going lower, over his chest. “You see all this? This is what sex with Soren is like. It’s fucking _wonderful_. And when I went in there, Soren was spitting blood and Rhys was bleeding from the throat. I understand that he’s got a fever but nobody sweats like that, breathes that heavily unless they’ve had a good lay.”

“Ike, will you listen to yourself?” Oscar sat down again, pulling Ike with him. “This is _Rhys_ we’re talking about. He’s been sick for days and hasn’t left his room because he hasn’t been able to move. He’s got trouble breathing most of the time anyways; being sick doesn’t help.” He paused. “I’ll admit the bite doesn’t bode well. But you could be jumping ahead of yourself.”

“How?”

“Better a kiss than a lay, right?” The knight sighed. “Kieran’s talking with Rhys right now. This might all somehow be a misunderstanding.”

“You don’t bite someone on the neck unless you’re trying to kill them or you’re marking them.”

“And how often did he do that to you before you started being intimate?” Oscar sighed. “I’m not trying to sugar-coat this. I’m saying that Soren couldn’t have possibly done anything of the sort in the small amount of time he was in there. Maybe he did something but…there’s no way to do anything of the sort in three minutes.”

“And how do you know how long he was in there for?”

“Because I saw him making his rounds. He wasn’t there for very long at all before you walked in. And it’s maybe three marks before midnight. All this would have had to take place within the last mark or so, and you’ve been in the kitchen with me being miserable for at least five-sixths of that time. Stop and _think_. Or is that too much for you to understand?”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t understand.”

“Then perhaps you should stop and think before getting angry with the man you’re in love with.” Oscar smiled and flopped back on his bed. “Go talk to him, at least.”

“I’ll wait, thank you.”

“Wait for _what_ , exactly?”

Ike was silent. Oscar sighed and patted the commander’s shoulder. “Well, whatever you choose, you’re still my brother.”

“I am not.”

“Brothers in arms, not brothers in blood.” The knight chuckled. “Wasn’t that what your father always said? Why bother saying it the long way? We’re family. That’s the important part.”

“Oscar…” The hand on his shoulder was comforting. Enough to make him uneasy, unsure. Ike bit his lower lip and turned away. He could feel it hitting him, hard. Pain and grief and anger.

Once the tears started, they didn’t stop.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Little one.”

Tormod blinked a few times, clearing his vision. No candles were lit but enough light filtered through the curtains from the oncoming sunrise to let him see. He smiled.

“Muarim!”

The tiger chuckled and sat down next to the mage’s bed. “You’re hurt. Keep off that foot.” He inhaled. “The young thief treated it. Did he do a good job?”

“Yeah.”

“And he left his scarf here.”

“The healing power of someone else’s things.” Tormod yawned. “Muarim, I’m tired. Ike says we’re supposed to go investigate somethin’-or-other tomorrow and…I…” He yawned again. Muarim smiled and rumpled his hair.

“Sleep. I just thought I’d say hello.”

“Hello.” He didn’t sound impressed, but Tormod was smiling. “G’night.”

“Sleep well, little one.”

Tormod was already asleep.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Sothe felt very flat.

For several moments his sleep-slowed mind couldn’t understand why he felt so squashed. He was in bed, wasn’t he? But his breathing wasn’t right and his right leg was asleep and something smelled like flowers.

“Get up.”

Ah. That would do it.

“Get _off_ ,” he groaned. The weight shifted only slightly. Not enough for him to breathe normally. Sothe squinted angrily. “If you don’t get off I’m gonna snap that ankle next chance I get.”

“It’s already better, genius.” Tormod huffed and slid off of Sothe. “I came to give you your scarf back.” The fabric hit him in the face and Sothe smiled.

“Alright, alright. Let me out of bed and we’ll go to breakfast, alright?” Sothe inhaled. “What is it? I can almost smell, but not quite.”

Tormod cocked an eyebrow and inhaled deeply. “Eggs, bacon…porridge, bread…fruit? Something like that, and somebody’s roasting vegetables. Probably peppers; they’re in season.”

Sothe stared. “You cheated and went to the kitchens beforehand. There is no way that a hu—beorc could possibly smell all that from here.”

“Raised by tigers,” Tormod replied. “I don’t know…my sense of smell is just the way it is. I can pick things out. Muarim taught me how when I was little.” He flushed and Sothe cocked an eyebrow.

“So keeping my scarf all night…?”

“You’re a thief. The smell of dishonesty lingers on you. You lie and cheat to keep yourself alive.” Tormod paused. “But…when I’m really close to a person it’s easier. You were honest last night.” He didn’t meet Sothe’s eyes. The thief smiled and sat up, pulling Tormod close.

“So what do you smell now?”

It was what heaven might have been like. Tormod pressed against him, cheek and nose and lips pressed against the inside of his neck. Sothe could feel his heart pounding and knew that the redhead could feel it as well.

“I’ve…this smell is…I don’t…”

“I like you,” Sothe whispered. He pulled away slightly, just enough to look Tormod in the eye. Their faces were inches apart. “I really, really like you.”

“S-Sothe…?”

“Can I?”

Tormod looked away. “I…I don’t know if…is this right?”

“Remember what I said last night?” Sothe smiled and hugged the mage, burying his face in the redhead’s shoulder and inhaling. Flowers. “We are not abominations simply for loving who we want to. People are stupid, and I _like_ you, Tormod.”

“Sothe?”

“Mm?”

“I like you too.” Tormod pushed him away only slightly. “Will…I mean, if you want to…could…”

Sothe leaned in. “Shut up.”

It was gentle at first. Tentative, slow. Tormod was shy. Sothe just held him close, pressed kisses to the other teen’s lips. Their hands met and their fingers entwined and Sothe leaned back against his pillow, pulling Tormod on top of him. Tormod pulled away, freckled cheeks blazing.

“I…I mean…”

“Kiss me?” Sothe smiled. “Please?”

It grew slightly more heated at that point. Longer, lingering. Sothe’s tongue brushed Tormod’s bottom lip and the mage hesitated. Sothe kissed the corner of his mouth gently and the mage closed his eyes, relaxed. Gently Sothe kissed him again and this time Tormod reacted, lips parting just slightly. Their tongues met just briefly and Sothe felt the redhead’s skin heat. He pulled away and pressed a kiss to the mage’s forehead.

“I like you,” he repeated.

Tormod buried his face in Sothe’s neck and inhaled deeply. He kissed the skin there.

“I like you too.”


	7. In which something bizarre happens

Devdan liked Makalov.

Makalov liked Devdan.

So they confessed and lived happily ever after in a one-room apartment in New York City and were never heard from again. Not very many people (including Ike and Soren) noticed that they were gone.


	8. In which Rhys meets Ulki

“Fucking _Daein_.”

Rhys sighed heavily. Somehow he’d been partnered up with Stefan. Stefan, who cursed Daein at every chance he was given and had a bit of a sword fetish and seemed intent on slowly driving Soren insane (not that it wasn’t funny to watch).  Everyone else was in a rough semi-circle ahead, cutting down knights and mages and swordsmen before they could fully retaliate. But reinforcements were imminent, if the last three battles were anything to go by, and the sticky mud and hidden waist-deep pools of water made fighting nearly impossible. Rhys was soaked through, his boots were ruined, his staff was losing its glow. A sure sign that it would split down the middle soon.

He sighed. “Watch your language.”

Stefan didn’t look at him and continued scanning for reinforcements. “It’s not your place to tell me what I can and cannot say.”

“You’re fighting beside a religious man. At least respect that.”

“I’ll respect nobody who worships a goddess that refuses to treat us all as equals.” The swordsman grinned. “ _Fuuuck_.”

Rhys grumbled and continued wallowing through the knee-deep mud. Accursed Jill and Marcia; at least they could fly above all this. He’d always wanted to be able to fly. Freedom as opposed to being stuck indoors wheezing his lungs out and coughing up flecks of blood.

Speaking of which.

He grimaced. Someone was off to the side, coughing and straining for air. The shaft of an arrow was buried deeply in their chest. But Goddess, the wings made it hard to see—

Wings. _Laguz_.

Warning bells rang in his head but he had no time; if they weren’t treated they would die. And he _had_ noticed that the hawks weren’t attacking anyone but Duke Tanas’ men. Carefully he wallowed through the muck and the trees.

“Hold still.”

The hawk looked up sharply and glowered at him. “I can take care of myself, human.”

“It’s _Rhys_.” The priest glared back. “You’re going to die if that isn’t taken care of. It’s punctured one of your lungs just enough for you to keep breathing. You’ll bleed to death on the inside and there’ll be nothing to show for it on the outside except a large bruise.”

The hawk looked at him incredulously. “You know too much, beorc.”

“That’s better. Will you let me help you or are we going to keep fighting about this?”

There was a pause, and then the hawk slumped against a tree, defeated. “Nothing for me to lose but my life. Make it quick. I’d rather fight while I’m still able.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that once I get this arrow out of you.” Rhys prodded the shaft carefully. “My, that’s in there quite deep.” He took firm hold with one hand and braced one foot against the tree. “I hate healers who lie and say that something isn’t going to hurt.” Gently, he smiled. “This is going to hurt.” 

He pulled as hard as he dared. The hawk reached out quickly and his fingers dug into Rhys’ left shoulder painfully. He cursed under his breath. Rhys tossed the arrow aside.

“Do you have a vulnerary?”

The hawk shook his head. “Used them on Janaff. The idiot would lose his head daily if it wasn’t attached.”

Rhys nodded. “Sounds like Kieran. The man comes out of practice bleeding. When he’s been practicing _alone_.”

The hawk chuckled at that and Rhys looked doubtfully at his staff. Oh well. The last use might as well save a life. He pulled out his last vulnerary and gave it to the hawk. “Drink it; it’ll deal with whatever internal injuries my staff can’t.”

“These taste like what I imagine a corpse would taste like.”

“Just do it. I’m working on a way to improve the taste.”

The hawk downed the herbs and made a face, tossing the empty pouch aside. His fingers dug into Rhys’ shoulder again as the priest began healing the wound. The staff split cleanly in two and Rhys muttered a quick prayer of thanks. The hawk coughed several more times, splattering blood over both of them and muttered something that might have been an apology.

“Well? Go fight.” Rhys smiled. “I’m sure someone needs you. Don’t strain yourself too hard; otherwise you’ll—”

“Shush.” The hawk’s brow furrowed (more so, anyways) and quite suddenly Rhys was being pulled against him. The priest turned red.

“I beg your—”

“ _Shush_. Stupid beorc, listen to me.” Wings wrapped around them, covering Rhys’ robes. The mud splatters covered what the feathers didn’t and he fell silent. His heart was pounding and he could hear the hawk’s as well, regaining its strength and pounding just as hard.

Three of Tanas’ men. Walking slowly, carefully, doing their best not to make any sound. It had worked despite the muck and wetness. The distraction hadn’t helped.

Rhys held his breath. His hand absently twisted the hem of his sleeve. The hawk caught it and didn’t let go.

“Nothing here. You’re seeing things again.” One of the soldiers punched another. “You haven’t been into the rum again, have you?”

“I saw something white, I’m sure of it. If it was that damned heron we’ll be rich.”

The hawk tensed this time. Rhys squeezed his hand and uttered a prayer under his breath. The soldiers didn’t leave.

“Please, please, please,” Rhys breathed against the hawk’s neck. He couldn’t fight with no tomes and a broken staff, and the hawk was still injured. “Ashera protect us and guide us.”

Whether it was coincidence or an act of the Goddess, one of the men stepped into a deep pool of water not ten feet away from their tree. He fell in up to his armpits and cursed loudly.

“There’s nothing here. Let’s leave before we drown. And get me out of here!” he growled at the two other men. Grumbling, they dragged him out of the hole and trudged off, muddy and defeated. Rhys hissed a sigh of relief and another prayer of thanks. The hawk smiled.

“Amen.”

“You believe in the Goddess?”

“Not always. But this was nothing short of a miracle.” The hawk paused and cocked his head. “There’s an exit this way. Come on; I’ll guide you. Won’t do your commander any good if his healer is drowned.”

“Thank you.” Rhys smiled and paused only briefly to bless the hawk once the other man was out of earshot.

The hawk smiled and, when Rhys was on solid ground, uttered a soft, “Goddess bless you too.”

He left as the priest flushed.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“You look like you just got _laid_.”

Rhys turned an unhealthy shade of red. Mia burst out laughing and patted the priest on the shoulder.

“I’m not saying that it’s obvious, or a bad thing. You look content. You’re…glowing. Literally.”

“Magic lesson,” Rhys replied, showing her his Shine tome. “I was nearly murdered today; I’m not about to let it happen again.”

“If that’s the reason you’re flushed and humming and glowing then you’ve got an interesting fetish, to say the least.”

“The glowing is something that amateur magic users encounter when they’ve interacted with spirits for too long and have excess magical power to burn. It’ll fade in a few minutes.”

“And the humming?” Mia grinned as the priest looked away. “I see how this works. You don’t want to tell anyone who it is you did it with.”

“I haven’t ‘done it’ with anyone!” Several people turned their heads to stare at Rhys and he flushed. “Someone saved my life today and I’m grateful, that’s all.”

“Was it that blonde hawk? She looked kind of cute.”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “I am one hundred percent sure that that hawk was male, thank you.”

Mia frowned. “Huh. You don’t say. Then who was it? Everyone else was accounted for except you. Ike’s still chewing Stefan out for leaving you behind.”

“One of the other hawks. Not the king; his other bodyguard.”

“The one with the face?”

Rhys huffed. “ _I_ happened to think it was a perfectly nice face, thank you.”

“Handsome, even?”

“Well, yes, a lit—” Rhys caught himself too late. Mia squealed with glee and grabbed his wrist, carting him off to her tent.

“I _knew_ it! Ilyana owes me ten gold!”

“Ten gold for _what_?”

“Ten gold that you’re into men!”

Rhys buried his face in one palm and sighed. “I will neither confirm nor deny that statement; however I will say that you really ought to find a more productive use of your time.”

Mia just smiled. “Well, then, we ought to be more productive by getting you together with him!”

Rhys let out an exasperated groan. “Listen to me! I met the man once and he saved my life! I don’t even know his _name_! Besides, he’s off with the hawk king again. We won’t see him again, I can promise you that.” Rhys smiled. “I’ll find someone someday. And until that point, it’s not your place to meddle.” He paused. “Shouldn’t you be off giving your portion of rations to Ilyana?”

“Shoot!” Mia scrambled to her feet. “I told her I’d meet her ten minutes ago! Look what you made me do!”

“I haven’t—”

“Don’t try to get out of this one.” Mia smirked. “Swords at dawn, Rhys. We’ll settle this the proper way.”

“Mia, I don’t—”

It was too late. Mia was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“So what are _you_ thinking about?”

Ulki made a face and sighed. Janaff grinned from a few branches overhead. “Come on, spit it out. You don’t need to be King Tibarn’s Eyes—which I am—to see that something’s going on in your head.”

“Does your chatter ever stop?”

Janaff pretended to think about it. “No. Not ever. I exist for the sole purpose of harassing those younger than I.”

“Only by three years.” Ulki remained silent.

“And you should respect your elders! Come on, what is it? You stricken with romantic thoughts about Leanne? Because Reyson would probably destroy you.”

“No.”

“Then who could it be?” Janaff smirked as Ulki’s fingers brushed against the left side of his chest. “Ah, that healer? Saved your life, didn’t he?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“So it is him, then.” Janaff gave Ulki a stern look. “Beorc are forbidden to us, you realize.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Besides, the odds of seeing him again are slim. It’s not like we’ll be fighting with or against him in the future or anything. It’s the sort of thing that a person should be thankful for and then forget about.”

“You never know.” Janaff smiled. “Did you at least thank him for saving your life?”

“I repaid the favour. It’s what anyone would have done, yes?”

“Of course. I did the same. Their commander’s little sister healed me. Couldn’t be angry at that girl even if you tried; she’s too damned innocent.”

Ulki nodded. “If you say so.”

They were silent for a moment. Janaff smirked and broke the silence.

“So…did you think he was cute?”

())CRAYOLA))>

“I should have placed money on it when you said we’d never see him again.”

Rhys groaned. It had to happen, didn’t it? A week later, crossing into Daein and being joined by not only the White Prince but the Hawk King’s bodyguards as well. The hawk with the narrow eyes and a scowl that matched Ike’s. He glanced around, caught Rhys’ eyes, and looked away.

Mia chuckled evilly. “That’s _him_ , isn’t it? I guess he’s okay-looking, if you’re into wings.”

“Doesn’t matter if he’s got wings or a tail or a third head. Besides, who put you in charge of my love life? For all you know I’m _straight_.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Straight like those noodles Oscar helped make during our two weeks in Begnion. Besides, if you _were_ , you’d have been staring when you walked in that one time and Ilyana was—”

Rhys hurriedly covered her mouth, blushing furiously. “Get into formation. Soren looks ready to blow a blood vessel if you don’t pay attention.”

“I’m not afraid of some little—”

“Some little _what_?”

Mia’s eyes widened and she turned. Behind her was the hawk, glaring down at her through narrowed eyes and scowling. “You ought to respect your tactician, beorc; he’ll save your life one day.”

Mia muttered something under her breath and stalked away, unsheathing her sword as she went. Rhys heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you. You’ve no idea what things she was saying.”

“I have a rough idea.” A smirk played over the hawk’s lips. “Rhys, was it?”

The bishop smiled. “Yes.” He paused, thinking. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“I am Ulki.”

A pause. Rhys kicked at the snow with the toe of one boot. Mud flaked off and he sighed; he really did need a new pair one of these days.

“You should replace those before the leather is completely destroyed.” Ulki’s mouth was set back into a scowl. “Frostbite won’t do you any good.”

“We’re a bit short on supplies at the moment. The Apostle sent us off with what she could but…I don’t _need_ new boots.”

“The leather’s cracking.”

Rhys frowned. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“I can hear it when you move.” Ulki’s head snapped to the side. “You’ve got a tome with you today, correct?”

“Shine, a Mend, and a Heal.” Rhys smiled. “I’m ready for anything.”

“Wyvern riders?” Ulki smirked as the other man gulped. “Stay behind me.”

“I-I can fight too, you know!”

“I don’t. I’ve seen you once, and that time was spent hiding from enemies and healing a wound. Prove me wrong, little beorc.”

“It’s Rhys.”

“Prove me wrong.”

The bishop’s answer was cut off. Feathers brushed against his cheek as Ulki transformed, letting out a shriek. The wyverns shifted in place, eager to fight.

 _Show me what you can do, Rhys_.

Rhys nodded, opened his tome, and let fly.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Ulki caught him as he lost his footing. Or at least, he was somewhat sure it was Ulki. There was no meaning to his vision, just a void of coloured blobs that looked something like Mist’s first time in the kitchen. He blinked several times but it didn’t help; his vision was darkening rapidly.

“Not now,” he breathed. Begged. He could feel his cheeks burning, the exhaustion from using both staves and magic. Fingers met his cheek, cool and comforting. He leaned into the hand. It withdrew quickly and he groaned, then his collar was being undone and cold winter air was meeting his neck. A sigh of relief escaped his lips and he breathed what he hoped was comprehensible as thanks.

“Idiot beorc,” Ulki muttered, scooping Rhys into his arms. “You should know better.”

“Ike needs me.” His words were slurred now. This wasn’t good.

“He needs you alive and functional as a soldier. Not collapsing on the battlefield from illness.” The words went unheard; Rhys was either unconscious or just sleeping. Ulki sighed and elbowed Janaff as the older hawk hurried past.

“I’m taking him back to the camp before he dies. Watch over Reyson until I return.”

Janaff nodded. “Of course.” Then he grinned. “Looks like you get another chance at him after all.”

Ulki chose to ignore him and took to the skies.

())CRAYOLA))> 

It was always disorienting, waking up.

The ground beneath him was moving. That in itself was abnormal. His robes were off and he was dressed only in his underclothes, blankets piled on top of him. This at least was familiar. Rhys tried and failed to sit up.

“Don’t push yourself. Everyone is worried enough as it is.” Someone sat down next to him but he couldn’t see who it was. It was still too dark. “You are in the merchant’s caravan. Everyone is carrying something extra so there would be room for you.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

“Three days!?” Rhys scrambled to sit up but a strong hand on his chest was all it took to keep him down.

“You are in no condition to be up and about. Do not be stupid, beorc.”

The bishop’s brow furrowed; who was it who called him beorc?

“Ulki?”

A grunt of approval came from the other man. Rhys smiled.

“Have you been with me all this time?”

“Several people have taken turns watching you.” A pause and shifting. One of Ulki’s wings brushed against Rhys’ cheek.

“Were you the one who carried me back?”

“I was.”

“Th-thank you.”

“You are light. I hardly noticed you.”

Silence followed again. Rhys shut his eyes and yawned. “Goddess bless you, Ulki.”

“Mm. Thank you.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

It was no surprise when, two weeks later, a flushed Rhys was welcoming a slightly embarrassed Ulki into his tent.

They claimed it was for warmth in the cold weather and in case Rhys got sick again. Ike needed him to be able to fight, Ulki had pointed out, and it wouldn’t do any good if Rhys was bedridden.

Ike had smiled and agreed and chosen to ignore the love bite half-hidden beneath Rhys’ collar.


	9. In which Shinon comes back

Admittedly, it was good to have Shinon back.

Things had been boring without him. Fighting wasn’t the same and hadn’t been for months. Gatrie had needed to completely rethink his fighting style in order to compensate for the lack of arrows raining down from on high to finish their— _his_ —opponents. Not that Astrid wasn’t a wonderful girl, and she _was_ trying, but the poor girl simply couldn’t feather a man between the eyes with enough force to knock him back into his comrades. She could hit a target every time, but not dead center.

But Shinon would have simply said that she wasn’t trying hard enough.

It was a lie but that was how Shinon had been raised. Always strive for more, nothing less than perfection. It was the reason the boy had started drinking at thirteen. Anything to make him normal.

That was a story for a different time.

“Oi.”

Even hearing his voice was a good thing right now.

Gatrie turned and chuckled. Shinon had been digging around in the basement of the fort they’d holed up in and looked successful, if the empty mug in his hand was anything to judge by.

“Loads of ale in the basement. There’s a few people down there already. Come on. That swordsman from the desert drinks like a lion.”

Gatrie didn’t need to be asked twice.

())CRAYOLA))> 

At midnight, Shinon started leaning on him. “Iss only ’cos’ll fall over oth…wise.”

Gatrie smiled and let the sniper latch onto his right elbow much like Astrid had the first time they’d been to the market together. Red hair fell against his shoulder as the other man downed another mug. Fingers trailed down his arm and he sighed; this was the point where Shinon was too drunk to care who or what he was flirting with. Time to get him back to his room.

After he politely declined another mug of ale, he hoisted Shinon up, swayed precariously, and then started the venture up two flights of stairs to their room. The good thing about Ike, he mused, was that the boy was smart about matching people in rooms together. Not that Gatrie _enjoyed_ waking up to a hungover Shinon in the mornings, but there had been a time months ago in a crowded inn with one bed that was just a bit too small and Shinon had had perhaps one (or two, or five) drinks too many and they had stumbled into bed, kissing and tearing off clothing and—

Gatrie chuckled. Even a drunken Shinon wouldn’t sleep with him. Passing out happened more quickly the more the man became aroused and by the time Gatrie had started unlacing the other man’s pants he was out cold, breathing through his mouth and his hair fanning out around him.

It would have been sexy if Shinon hadn’t woken up hungover and shouting at Gatrie to get some clothes on. The knight couldn’t remember if Shinon had been flushed; what he did remember was disentangling their limbs and letting the redhead’s hair slide through his fingertips as he pulled away. Smiling at the love bites that neither of them chose to acknowledge in front of the other.

That sort of thing only happened once.

So now, as Gatrie heaved Shinon into his bed and began helping the sniper out of his boots, he ignored the fingers in his hair, the mumbling about Goddess-knew-what. Once the boots were off he tried to stand, but Shinon’s fingers were latched tightly onto his sleeve.

“Don’t leave,” he managed to croak.

Gatrie sighed. “You’ll hate me when you wake up.”

“I don’t hate you.” Shinon gave him that drunken half-smile. “An’ you _love_ me.”

The blonde froze only briefly. “Whatever you say, Shinon.”

())CRAYOLA))>

It sucked to be hungover. ­­

He deserved it; he was an alcoholic bastard and everyone around him knew it. Greil had called him on it, once, and then left it alone. Ike either didn’t know or didn’t care. Probably the former. The tactician knew and loathed him for it but the boy hated everyone anyways. It didn’t matter. And Gatrie put up with it. Gatrie put up with everything, from the angry spiels about being unreliable to the overdoses of liquor and subsequent vomiting. Shinon smiled just slightly; he remembered Gatrie carrying him— _carrying him_ —back up to their room last night. Taking his boots off, untying his hair. Gatrie was the only person allowed to do that. The only person allowed to even touch his hair. The rest of them had dirty hands, didn’t take care, and besides, it was his _hair_.

Gatrie kept his hands clean. Gatrie was gentle. Didn’t pull, didn’t hurt him. Even on _that_ night. Months and months ago. Hot kisses and gentle hands and not once had Gatrie tugged, latched on, anything. It had been a swift gesture and his red hair had been falling around his shoulders. And the knight had _asked_ first. Nobody did that; not the women nor the men he’d been with, and he hated them all for it.

Shinon sighed heavily. The only thing worse than a hangover was…whatever it was they had. It wasn’t a friendship. Friends didn’t start kissing after they’d been drinking. They weren’t lovers; hadn’t slept with each other once. It was a blurred line between the two. Something that he had started to grasp as soon as he’d parted ways from Gatrie in Port Toha, mere days before the mercenaries had been through.

Gatrie had left behind his wallet. Shinon was sure that it had been intentional.

The leather was worn from use. Hundreds of nights of spending his money on pretty girls and never a single gold to take home afterward, leaving Shinon with the tab from the bar every time.

It wasn’t as infuriating as it should have been.

He’d given it back awkwardly two nights ago. Gatrie had smiled and patted his shoulder and dragged him off to dinner. Their eyes didn’t meet for the entire meal. On the way back to their room Gatrie had paused outside the door and finally looked at him. Leaned in, and Shinon had hoped that just maybe the ice would finally shatter. But the blonde had simply been swaying on his feet, tired. They’d both gone to bed and while Gatrie snored Shinon sat awake, wrapped in blankets to keep out the cold and tempted to hunt down some whiskey to keep out his thoughts.

This morning was different. His head was still buzzing. His stomach was a mess and he could feel a headache coming on. At least his hair was alright; he’d slept too heavily overnight to muss it badly. Blearily he felt around his wrist for the ribbon he tied his hair with; Gatrie had placed it there last night. Shinon let out a soft chuckle and unwrapped it from his arm. As he began gathering his hair he felt the cot shift. Gatrie knelt behind him, smiling. When had that happened?

“Need help?”

Shinon groaned. “You’re too loud.”

The knight chuckled and pulled the ribbon from Shinon’s hands. He gathered the sniper’s hair and bound it tightly, just as Shinon liked it. Then he sighed.

“Why aren’t we together?”

Shinon blinked. “What?”

Gatrie shrugged. “Why not? It’s clear that this is past friendship. I don’t know what it is.”

“You’re being stupid.”

“I know.”

“Amazingly stupid.”

“Probably.”

“Why haven’t you kissed me in so long?”

The knight was taken aback by this. Shinon turned around, blinking blearily in the morning light. Gatrie _had_ to be sitting in front of the window, didn’t he? His eyes focused and he found the knight’s lips, still trying to form a coherent sentence.

“I—buh. We don’t—and—I—”

“Come now. You didn’t say no last night and you didn’t say no last fall either.”

“Didn’t—I—”

“You _do_ love me. Otherwise you’d be all over that noble, or the swordmaster, or the Pegasus knight or that sub-human. Any of them would do, really.” Shinon smirked. “So why not bother?”

“I’m simply not interested.” The knight looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so hard to consider?”

“You flirted with Jill; is that because she looks like I do after you’ve had a few drinks?”

Gatrie flinched just slightly; Shinon knew he’d hit the target dead center. Provoking people was a gift.

“It’s none of your business.”

“None of my business if you’re in love with me? I hardly think that that’s fair.” Shinon was on his knees now, bearing down on the knight. Gatrie’s back was against the wall. Nowhere left to scoot backwards, nowhere else to look. He reached out and gripped Gatrie’s jaw, forcing the knight to look him in the eye. “Damn you and your terrible lying skills.”

“Shinon—”

“What about _me_?”

Gatrie blinked and Shinon took the opportunity. Crushed his mouth against the other man’s. Their noses bumped and Gatrie let out a muffled sound of surprise. Shinon smirked and let his tongue play along the other man’s bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open. His tongue was met with equal fervour as Gatrie kissed him back. Shinon pulled back, bringing the knight with him. They settled into the blankets, one of Shinon’s legs hooked over Gatrie’s, still kissing. Gatrie pulled away just long enough to ask permission and then his fingers were threading through Shinon’s hair. The sniper groaned.

“I love you,” he hissed, pulling Gatrie’s bottom lip between his teeth. “I love you,” he repeated, digging his fingers into the blonde’s shoulders. A gasp escaped him as the knight kissed his throat. “Fuck, Gatrie. Why did you have to let me fall in love with you?”

The knight hummed, still gently suckling the sniper’s neck. “Mmm…it’s not my fault. You’re the one attracted to me.”

“A mutual attraction.” It wasn’t a question. They both knew the answer.

Gatrie smiled and pressed his forehead against the sniper’s. “Leaving you nearly killed me. I thought it would be for the best but I was wrong.” He pressed a kiss to Shinon’s lips. “I missed you. I love you.” Then he smiled and rolled onto his back, pulling Shinon on top of him. “You’re going to need to sleep more.”

“It’s too bright. I can practice instead.”

“Stay with me.”

The sniper rolled his eyes. His lips curved upward just slightly. Gatrie was warm and the window leaked cold air into their room. And the knight was already pulling their blankets up and kissing him.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Gatrie smiled. “Not at all.”

“Idiot.”

The knight squeezed him. “I love you too.”


	10. In which Ike is nearly killed again

Soren was too exhausted to care at this point. About anything, really. The freezing weather and higher altitude were wreaking havoc on his internal clock. Oscar was trying to take care of him, bringing him tea and extra quills and dinner when he didn’t come to the mess tent (which happened more and more often). Titania had looked at him and muttered something about an imbalance under her breath, but he’d ignored that too. There was nothing but the weather to blame.

He’d wanted to punch Mist when she’d asked him about it. Why Ike had his own room now, why Soren wasn’t sneaking off in the middle of the night. Instead he’d clenched his fists and let his nails bite into his palms. The explanation had been short and simple and he’d left before any further questions could be asked.

People just wouldn’t leave him alone.

It was the swordmaster this time. The idiot who harassed him even before this whole incident with Rhys and Ike. Too much physical contact between them and nonsense about there being a village of Branded out in Grann desert.

Most Branded were killed before they had a chance to band together.

“You don’t belong here.”

Soren ignored the swordsman. His eyes bored into the parchment he was writing on. He realized he’d written Ike’s name in the ancient language. A habit he’d gotten into to ensure that they wouldn’t be caught.

He scribbled it out and continued calculating the remaining food supply.

Stefan leaned on the desk and said it again. “You don’t belong here. You ought to come home with me when all this is over.”

“I belong wherever my commander orders me.”

“And what happens when he finds out about you?”

“I have nothing to hide.”

The swordmaster cocked an eyebrow. “If you’ve got nothing to hide then I’m one of the herons.”

“I have _nothing_ to hide.”

“You’re the same as I am. Untouchable.”

The comment made Soren’s heart stop for a split second. He turned from his work only briefly to look Stefan in the eye.

“Don’t accuse me of being something I’m not.”

Stefan ignored the sage’s heated gaze. “You’re the same as I am. Ike’s told me that you’re older than him. So why don’t you look a day over fourteen?”

“Appearance has nothing to do with this.”

“Do you know how old I am? Sixty-one. Anyone you asked would say I was thirty. Maybe younger.” The swordmaster placed a hand on Soren’s shoulder. “You age differently. You bear the Brand.”

“Spirit Charmer.”

“That isn’t the mark of a Spirit Charmer,” Stefan said, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned down, resting his chin on one hand. His eyes were nearly level with Soren’s. “Not to say that your magical abilities aren’t remarkable. But a Spirit Charmer? No.”

“It isn’t your place to tell me what I am nor where I belong.”

“You belong with us. What are you going to do when they all die?” Stefan lifted his hair. His Brand was golden and stood out on his skin much like Soren’s did. A different pattern. The same ugly mark on his skin. “You’ll suddenly have no friends. No place to live. People will start wondering about you. Why you don’t age. They’ll be disgusted by you, your bloodline. It’s not your fault you were born like this but they don’t give a shit. Humans are stupid.” His voice softened. “And you’ll have to watch Ike die. Even if things ended between the two of you, you’ll cling to him because he’s the only one who cared about you. And in thirty, forty years you’ll watch as he breathes his last. It’ll kill you inside.”

Soren was quiet for a moment. “How do you know? You aren’t me. You weren’t raised as I was. You’ve no idea what goes on in my head.”

Stefan shrugged his shirt off. Scars stood out on his skin. Scars in sets of three and four, from what had to be claws. Jagged lines from whips and belts. Scars from burns, from frostbite. He held up one wrist and Soren saw the scars there too, self-inflicted. Some cuts had been shallow. Some had been nearly life-threatening.

The swordmaster’s eyes met his. Soren reached for his sleeve and pulled it up as Stefan pulled his shirt back on. Their scars were similar. Almost identical, really. The only difference was which wrist; Soren was left-handed and Stefan right.

“Everyone tries once,” Stefan murmured. “Everyone is beaten as a child, as an adolescent if they haven’t run away by then. We all starved. We all have scars.”

“How many are you?”

“Nearly two hundred. You wouldn’t be the youngest. We have children. We rescue others from prisons and from their own families. We have food and medicine.” Stefan smiled. “We fight. We fall in love. It’s someplace where nobody is alone or discriminated against.” Carefully, he took the sage’s hands in his own. “Come home with me, Soren. There isn’t anything for you here.”

“Why are you so intent on dragging me with you?”

“Because I worry about you.”

“Horseshit.”

“I do.” Stefan squeezed. “You’ve told nobody of your heritage, not even Ike. That much I can tell. You keep it hidden away with the hopes that nobody will call you on it. Everyone does.” Then Stefan smiled. “You’re braver than the rest of us. You wear your mark and don’t hide it away. You’re a sage and that helps with the belief that you’re a Spirit Charmer. No Branded other than you would wear their mark so proudly.”

“I am not proud of my origins.”

“None of us are.” Stefan was closer now and he closed the gap between them, Brand against Brand. Soren shifted uncomfortably but the other man didn’t move. “It’s not your fault. But you’re being strong about it. That is something to look up to.” Then he chuckled. “I could take a page out of your book. Stop hiding it.”

“You’d be caught immediately,” Soren replied. “My mark is like that of a Spirit Charmer and the coloration is enough to convince others that it could be a birthmark. You work no magic and your Brand is the wrong color. Everyone would wonder.”

“Mm. I suppose.” Stefan sighed; his breath blew against Soren’s lips. “Consider it, will you? You’d be happier. I’d be happier.”

“Why would _you_ be happier?” Now it was past discomfort; something was strange. Too intimate for this to be a conversation between two people.

“I’d have saved someone from a potentially horrible life years from now. Kept him from wandering, being caught at forty with naught a wrinkle on his face.” Now Stefan’s nose was just barely brushing Soren’s cheek. He was too close. This was what happened before—

Stefan kissed him. Soren pulled back immediately, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He cursed loudly in both common and ancient tongue. The swordmaster shrugged.

“It was worth a shot.”

“What could you have _possibly_ gained from that?! You’re forty-three years my elder! I could call Ike on you right now and he’d punish you for this.”

“But you won’t.” The smirk was back, the one that only occurred when Stefan knew he was right. “You’re not afraid of me. You’re relieved to have someone who understands. Even our scars are the same. You were whipped and beaten. People threw rocks at you. Kicked you in the streets while nobody dared come to the rescue of an untouchable. You wanted to kill yourself at one point but someone saved you. Gave you hope for something better.”

Soren was silent for a moment. Stefan’s hand fell on his shoulder and he didn’t shrug it off. “My birthmother abandoned me. The woman who took me in didn’t let me speak and beat me if I made a sound. Greil once told me that it’s a miracle I learned to speak at all. They took me in when I was ten. Any further along and I wouldn’t have been able to learn anything but spells. Nothing but the ancient language. I’d be dead if I hadn’t found Ike. That’s why I can’t leave here.”

“You don’t owe him anything.”

“I owe him my life.”

“He did it out of the goodness of his heart; can’t you see that? He cares for everyone and doesn’t give a shit whether they’re human or sub-human or Branded. He’d want you to be happy.” Stefan smiled and leaned in again. His fingers wound through Soren’s hair and his forehead was against the sage’s again. “I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“Are you? You’ve been sulking for days. Your eating habits have gotten worse and they were bad to begin with. You’re barely sustaining yourself as it is. You’re worn out. That isn’t being happy. That’s simply doing enough to survive.” Stefan sighed softly. “Come home with me. I would make you happier than Ike ever did.”

“I don’t—”

“Please, Soren. I ask this because I’m worried, and because I want you to be happy. I want to be the one making you happy. You will have nothing left for you here once the war is over.”

“Pedophile.”

“I don’t care,” Stefan whispered. “I am already an outcast, a freak. Why should one more transgression pose a threat?” Then he smirked, pulling the sage close. “Kiss me. Forget all the shit in your life right now and let yourself feel better.”

“I never said yes,” Soren replied.

“You have time to think it over. Kiss me.”

“Stefan—”

“Please.”

A frustrated growl escaped Soren. The sage threw his arms around Stefan’s shoulders and kissed the other man. Not the same way he had kissed Ike; that sort of thing could never be repeated with anyone else. But the green-haired man’s lips were warm and gentle and _Ashera_ , he knew how to kiss. His eyes never shut and neither did Stefan’s. They watched each other as their lips moved together. Stefan’s hands slid around the sage and he slid down onto the cot, never letting go. This was almost too familiar. Almost too much like Ike. But Stefan was taller and bonier and a thousand other things that _weren’t_ Ike.

That was ultimately what made this acceptable.

())CRAYOLA))>

“It’s too Goddessdamned _cold_ out here,” Ike hissed, huddling with Oscar to keep warm. The cloaks they wore weren’t enough to keep out the wind. It bit at their faces and fingers and snuck into their clothes, chilling them to the bone.

The paladin’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. “My armour is completely frosted over and so is Henry’s,” he replied, referring to his horse. “You’ve hardly got the same problem.”

“I can’t feel anything past my knees and my fingers are going numb.”

“I’ve got a horse to take care of.”

The wind died down slightly. Jill dismounted her wyvern and chuckled. “Your mount isn’t used to this weather and it’ll be hard to move. I can fight enough for two. Stay here.”

“Yours is a lizard. I thought they hated the cold.”

Jill shrugged. “It’s what she grew up in. We both love it. Not that summers aren’t wonderful too, but the snow…it’s gorgeous.”

“You haven’t lost the feeling in your fingers yet, have you?”

“Haven’t since I was eleven,” Jill grinned. “Nobody else here can say that.”

“Agreed.” The voice belonged to Rhys. “Everyone’s freezing; Janaff won’t shut up about it. It’s not a matter of feeling alright or not, it’s a matter of whether we can feel certain parts of our bodies or not—which we can’t.”

“Could be worse,” Oscar murmured. “Tormod and Muarim won’t leave their tent because they’re too cold. They’ve spent the entire week like that.”

“It’s the wind. Makes you feel colder than you should.” Jill shuddered as the wind picked up and huddled in closer to Oscar. His arm fell down around her and she smiled slightly. “It’s at least thirty degrees below freezing.” She was greeted by blank stares and sighed. “Degrees of heat. It’s something that one of the sages came up with to judge exactly how cold or warm something is. He says that freezing is at exactly zero degrees, and then it starts becoming negative…or something like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” They jumped. Soren pushed into their huddle, followed closely by Stefan. “Zero is freezing. Below that you start counting below zero instead of above. Likewise, he stated that boiling water was measured at exactly one hundred degrees of heat.”

“Fascinating.” Boyd shoved in, dragging Gatrie with him. Shinon followed suit, and then Janaff. Ulki gravitated toward Rhys and the bishop smiled. “How many degrees of heat will it take to melt those soldiers?”

Soren glared at him and lifted an Elfire tome. “Roughly the amount it would take to melt the ice encasing your skull. Let’s find out, shall we?”

“Enough,” Ike said sharply. “What do we know about our enemies?”

“They outnumber us roughly two to one without reinforcements,” Soren replied coolly. “The added resistance of Kilvas will make things difficult. Avoiding combat with the king is preferable. We don’t need an angered laguz nation partnered with Daein. But combat will likely be unavoidable.” The sage turned. “Reyson? Tell us about King Kilvas.”

The prince shot a look at Soren. “He’s the king of Kilvas. Most laguz nations choose their kings based on strength. Kilvas is no different; they have a strong and skilled king.”

Soren nodded curtly. “He will be weak against arrows and wind magic, regardless.”

“Not entirely.” Reyson’s brow furrowed. “He studied with a sage in Gallia for a number of years. Drove the man insane, I’m sure; I’ve heard stories of him taking out his anger on the young Spirit Charmer that lived with him at the time.” Soren felt a chill run down his spine. Reyson ignored it and continued. “I believe that his magic is a variation of the Tornado spell, although I could be incorrect. Regardless, Naesala is a strong fighter and the likelihood of losing men is high.”

Ike nodded, brow furrowed. “So we’ll need someone capable of both long-distance and hand-to-hand combat.”

“High magic resistance,” Soren added.

Ike nodded again. “High defence or a reasonable reaction time and endurance.”

Almost immediately everyone looked at Boyd.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Boyd’s a terror when he fights.”

Soren ignored the swordmaster and twisted out of the way of a sword. The blade passed by his throat and he cursed internally. The damned Elfire spell was memorized but the distraction of a quick and pointy death was enough to keep him from casting properly. The presence of Stefan didn’t help. The past week and a half had been evenings of shared meals, a shared tent, stolen kisses after dark. It wasn’t the same as Ike and perhaps that was why it wasn’t comfortable, because Ike knew everything (almost). Ike knew how to deal with Soren. The mood swings and the frustration and the need to be alone for at least three hours a day with a cup of tea and a book. Stefan didn’t understand that yet. He hung around even though he should have been doing something far more useful and it drove Soren mad.

The flash of green hair in the corner of his eye was the final straw and Soren let the spell leap from the pages. Flame enveloped both soldiers in front of him. There were no screams. When the heat died down there was nothing left but the smoking remains of armour and the stench of burned flesh.

Stefan whistled and effortlessly countered a messy blow from an axeman. Another Elfire burst out inches behind him, silencing another heartbeat. He smiled, catching Soren and kissing him even as the sage struggled for breath.

“I take it back,” he panted. “ _You’re_ the terror.”

“I can do the same to you,” Soren replied. A new spell was at his fingertips immediately, the spirits begging for him to unleash it on some new victim. This sort of thing always happened in the heat of battle. Bloodlust. Either his own or that of the spirits, he still wasn’t sure. And the words were on his lips already. The voice in his head begged. Ordered.

 _Do it_.

Stefan kissed him again. The swordmaster tasted of blood but it didn’t matter. The words died on Soren’s lips and he let Stefan kiss him deeply, gently. It was still uncomfortable. Too familiar, too reminiscent of Ike. The taste of blood and the silent sheathing of the sword as they kissed and the undeniable scent of steel and sweat. It was too much like Ike.

The thought tumbled abruptly out of his head as he heard Ike scream. Not a battle cry; those were distinct and easy to recognize. The spray of blood was from Ike and his sword dropped shortly before he did. Rhys was nowhere to be found.

“ _Ike_!” His scream caught the attention of the mercenaries; they’d never heard Soren so loud, so terrified. It was enough to confirm things and they all rushed to the sage’s aid.

Stefan wasted no time. He chuckled and shoved Soren forward. “Be happy with him,” he whispered. “You will always have a place in Grann.”

Mordecai was there almost instantly, engaging a soldier in combat and clearing the way for Soren. Janaff was on the other side, knocking the weapons from the hands of two other soldiers and flying away with them. Shinon appeared behind him and gave him a solid push, grinning almost sadistically as he did so.

“Go get your lover back,” he hissed. “It’s creepy, not hearing you two every other night.” Somewhere in the back of his mind Soren knew that wasn’t exactly what the sniper had meant; the redhead was generally incapable of treating him with any amount of dignity and respect.

The thought counted for something, though.

Soren didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. His wrist was being grabbed and he was hoisted onto a horse.

“You two need to settle things,” Oscar said. “You love him to death and whatever it was that happened wasn’t important. You screwed up and now you need to fix it. I’ll be here for both of you if you need me, alright?”

“Mm.” Soren nodded, only half paying attention. His thoughts were focused on Ike. How badly he was bleeding, how far away he would be once Oscar had to stop, the amount of magic he would need to use to heal a near-fatal wound. He was deposited on the ground with little warning and didn’t bother to thank the knight. He just started running. Ike was still bleeding out onto the ice, still surrounded by the corpses of those he’d killed.

Soren knew that he wouldn’t make it in time. That Stefan had been right. He would watch Ike die. The only person who’d ever cared about him, the only person whom he ever would have considered telling his heritage to. Blood would stain his hands as Ike’s lifeless corpse bled out onto him.

“Pessimist.”

“I think realistically.”

Reyson smirked. “For a mage, you certainly don’t take into consideration the magic of others.”

He sang. Soren had heard the song countless times but had never felt it for himself. It seemed to be a variant of healing magic, giving his muscles and mind an extra boost of energy and—

“You also think too much.” Reyson sighed. “Weren’t you just concerned about your commander bleeding to death?”

The words were only halfway out of the prince’s mouth by the time Soren had started running.

He collapsed next to Ike’s limp form. He didn’t think as he pulled out the staff. Rhys had taught him only to feel. The spirits would guide him. Remnants of Reyson’s magic still clung to him and he forced those through the staff as well. For five heart-stopping seconds, nothing happened.

Ike inhaled. Soren nearly died of relief.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he panted, sinking against Ike’s chest, not caring about the blood staining his clothes. “I don’t know what came over me and I’ve done nothing but regret it since. I love you.”

“It’s not…that easy to forgive someone who…takes your heart…and stomps on it.” Ike was still having a hard time breathing and Soren fished in his robes for a vulnerary. He held the pouch to Ike’s mouth and the swordsman inhaled the powder. He coughed twice, sending flecks of blood onto Soren’s cheeks. The sage didn’t bother wiping them off. Then his blue eyes opened, meeting Soren’s for the first time in weeks.

“I realize that,” Soren replied, not breaking eye contact. “I just wanted you to know that…I love you. I tried to forget about you after…what happened. I couldn’t. Even with Rhys…I thought about you. With Stefan I thought about you.”

“Comforting.” Ike’s tone was sarcastic but he didn’t look away.

“I always wanted it to be you!” Soren cursed. “In the back of my mind, with Rhys, I knew it wasn’t, and that’s why I kissed him! To see if it would ever be possible for me to move on should something happen to you!”

“You moved to Stefan afterwards.”

Soren cursed again. “Goddessdamnit, Ike! I thought I had no other choice with you gone! You stormed off and I hardly saw you afterward. Stefan and I share common traits. We were raised the same way and found common ground in that. Nothing more.”

“You kissed him.”

“ _He_ kissed me. I would gladly have had nothing to do with kissing him, thank you all the same.”

Ike was silent. He glanced off to the side, thinking. “Soren…you hurt me. So, so badly. I think…we need time to get through this. I’ll try again. But I can’t go back to how things were before.” Then he smiled. “Not that the sex wasn’t fantastic.”

“It would do you some good to keep from bleeding in the next few days as it is. You nearly died just now.”

“And you cried for me.”

“I did _not_.” Soren looked at the ground and Ike chuckled softly.

“You did. That in itself proves that you still love me.”

“Of course I still love you.” The sage smiled as Ike sat up. The wind picked up and Ike instinctively tugged his cape around them. They shared a slightly awkward chuckle.

“Love struck fools, then,” Ike murmured. “Every night I wanted to confront you. Yell at you, hit you, kiss you, anything. I was too terrified of seeing you with someone else to even try.” He smiled. “I don’t think I will ever stop loving you, Soren. Even if the world ends and the seas swallow Tellius. You will always be precious to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Soren would never be able to say it enough. Tears threatened to spill over and he blinked them away. “I’m sorry.” Ike’s arms fell around him as the wind picked up further and they shuddered in the cold together. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you,” Ike whispered. He was shaking from the cold and his lower lip was trembling as it always did when he was past the point of discomfort. Soren knew that he looked the same—flushed cheeks and frost in his hair and freezing. He reached up with one hand and smoothed his thumb over Ike’s lip. Tenderly, just like he had done last winter in Crimea, and all the winters before that. It was something that would never change.

“I love you,” Soren repeated. It was barely a whisper. Their eyes met again and Ike smiled.

“Kiss me better,” he whispered. “I still hurt.”

Soren didn’t need to be asked twice. As the snow fell around them, threatening to bury them completely, he kissed Ike. His lips and his cheeks and his forehead. Kissed the blood on his chin and the tiny strip of exposed skin at his throat. Then he leaned down and kissed Ike directly above his heart.

“I’m sorry. I’ll never break it again,” he murmured. “I will always be by your side.”

“Forever?” Ike looked at him shyly, a soft smile on his lips.

“To the ends of the earth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a second here to talk about this chapter (and the events that led to it, too) real quick, because ever since the first draft of this story went up on fanfiction.net eight years ago I've gotten nothing but grief about this arc. Many, many people have left reviews or sent me private messages telling me that I have no idea what I'm talking about. At least twice a year I am informed that I am a bad writer, a bad person, or both. So please, if you're angry, hear me out. 
> 
> I have cheated. I won't deny that. I made things fairly complicated amongst my circle of then-friends, and I spent a lot of time reflecting and considering when writing the final draft of this chapter. It's all fun and games until you get caught, and when your world comes crashing down it's a very sudden and harsh realization that you've fucked up. However, who I am now is not who I was back then. I have made the conscious decision to make sure that I never put myself or others in that same position, and I have stuck with it. People are capable of change. 
> 
> I have been the other person. I have pursued someone despite the knowledge that they were seeing someone else, although I will be the first to confess that I was still in high school when this happened. Still.
> 
> My longest relationship ended when I learned that my partner had taken advantage of someone while they were not able to give consent, and that this incident had occurred over a year prior to my hearing about it. Further explanation revealed that the incident came about because they had felt insecure about our relationship and wanted to confirm with themselves that they were actually capable of pleasing another person, and that it hadn't just been me faking it for two years. Despite this, I was prepared to talk through it. I have forgiven them for what they did, and so has the victim. Neither of us has forgotten, and neither of us has spoken to them in over a year. 
> 
> I think a great deal of growing and maturing is being able to look at yourself as a whole: who you were, who you are, and who you will be. These three versions of ourselves change who we are, and it is the ability to make choices that lets us develop as people. I cannot change what I have done, and I would never deny it (not even to you, Internet Stranger). But I have made the decision to be the person that the people around me deserve, rather than letting myself turn back into the other person or the cheater. 
> 
> Thank you.


	11. In which Reyson makes Naesala bleed

It was a glimmer of gold on the battlefield that had caught Naesala’s eye.

Not gold exactly. It had the same characteristics. The same colour, the same beautiful shimmer of reflected light. Here in the snow everything was hideously bright. The wind tossed that gold around almost elegantly and distracted him from the bleeding in his shoulder where an arrow had pierced, the hissing of the spirits as they begged him to give them more blood.

He’d always thought it had been beautiful. Gold hair on emerald eyes surrounded by silver and pearl. Intense eyes and soft lips and a wonderfully sculpted face. Strong wings from flying with Tibarn and a complexion that matched the lightness of his wings despite living in such a hot climate. Reyson looked like treasure. It had been why Duke Tanas had wanted him so badly and was willing to do anything to get the prince. Even try to intimidate King Kilvas through the Begnion senators who knew of the blood pact.

The bloody pile of suet would do anything to get what he wanted.

Damn, though. Reyson had never looked this beautiful. Perhaps it was simply because Naesala had never seen him in the heat of battle before. But the heron had his hair tied back in a long ponytail and was lashing out with his voice. He moved like the wind, avoiding spears and swords and arrows. Blood flecked his clothes but it didn’t seem to be his.

Naesala had the sneaking suspicion that Tibarn had trained the prince in combat.

Stealth mode kicked in. If Reyson had been trained to fight—or at least avoid combat—it meant that he would at least be able to sense a shadow in this glittering pass.

It took Reyson ten seconds to turn, eyes blazing and a scowl on his face. If the prince had been capable of wielding a Bolganone or Meteor tome, Naesala was sure that he would have been set aflame and tossed off a cliff. Still, he put on a smile and raised his hands in surrender.

“You look good, kid.”

Reyson’s eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists. “Go away. I have no desire to see you.” When Naesala took a step forward and reached for him, he slapped the other man’s hand away. “How dare you speak to me?! You _sold_ me to that…that _human_!”

“With full intention of rescuing you later on!” Naesala replied. He was sure he’d heard something in the prince’s hand pop as they made contact. “You’re the one who took off without waiting for me!”

“So this is _my_ fault?!” The fire in Reyson’s eyes grew. “I had no _idea_ that standing idly by and waiting for a rape that would _kill_ me was preferable!”

“I would never let anyone so much as breathe on you too harshly. It might break you.”

“I’m not made of glass.”

“I noticed.” Naesala smiled softly, looking away. “You fight beautifully.”

“I feel as though I’m going to pass out.” Reyson’s anger was diminishing slowly; Naesala had the sneaking suspicion that the heron could feel the sincerity of his apology.

“I can take you back to Kilvas. You know I’d take care of you.”

Reyson snorted. “I would wake up in the home of another nobleman with too much money. Tell me, how much am I worth to you?”

“Not nearly enough. Nobody could ever pay enough to take you away from me. Not permanently.” Naesala smiled and reached for the heron again. Reyson didn’t flinch away this time and let the raven take his hand. “I was going to rescue you, Reyson. I would have waited three days. Just long enough to let Tanas drop his guard. Then I would have slaughtered every last one of his men and ripped him to shreds for daring to put a price on you.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“All you seem to care about is money.”

“And you.” The king smirked and squeezed Reyson’s hand. “I’d give all my gold for you.”

“You would not. You’re attracted to shiny things.”

“You’re shiny,” Naesala chuckled.

“I am _not_.” The heron sighed heavily. “I suppose…that if it hadn’t been for this whole mess, we never would have found Leanne. So I will forgive you. Just this once. Never pull a stunt like this again, do you understand me?”

“Understood.” Naesala smiled. “Anything else, your majesty?”

He had said the last part sarcastically. Or at least, he had meant to. Reyson’s lips curved into a half-smirk.

“Withdraw,” he said almost immediately. “Don’t fight Ike. You will lose. I would be disappointed to see an old friend murdered at the hands of my commander.”

“Withdrawing? Reyson, you can’t expect—”

“Then what _are_ you going to do? Continue fighting against your fellow laguz? Against _me_?” The heron glared and jerked his hand away. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

The king was silent for a long time, and then he sighed heavily. “Just because it’s you asking.”

Reyson was silent. He eyed the king suspiciously. Naesala cocked an eyebrow.

“What? Something on my face?”

Reyson shook his head. “Your heart…it’s saying my name.”

“So?” Naesala looked away. It wouldn’t do any good if Reyson found out. Unrequited love had a tendency to come back and tear your feathers out one by one.

“Your heart is saying my name the same way that my father’s said my mother’s name.”

It was unexpected. It shouldn’t have been; Reyson had been able to read his emotions like an open book since they’d met. Still, there was that part of Naesala that wished it could have been hidden.

“So I like you. So what?” Naesala crossed his arms and looked away. “It’s perfectly natural.”

“Is that why? Why you kept me close in Kilvas and asked every half a mark if I needed anything?” Reyson chuckled. “Really. You should know that I’m not picky about accommodations so long as I get a proper meal three times a day.” Then he smiled and caught Naesala by the shoulders. “You should have said something earlier.”

“Why? So you could fuss about it and make Tibarn angry with me? I’d prefer to wake up intact rather than missing limbs.”

“Idiot.” _That_ caught Naesala’s attention and his eyes darted back to Reyson’s. The heron was still smiling. “I am an adult and have been for years. I will do what I please with who I please and Tibarn cannot do anything about it.”

“Tibarn would punch me out simply for _thinking_ about doing anything to you.” Naesala paused. “Is that why—?”

Reyson burst out laughing and began mocking the things he’d said over the past summer. “Of course. ‘My room is too cold, can I sleep with you?’ ‘Yes, I always sleep naked.’ ‘We’d save time if we showered together.’ Come now, did you really think nothing of that?”

“Tibarn would tear off my wings if I made a move on you.” It was a weak excuse, but it was the only one he had.

“Which is why I’ll have to start things.”

Naesala didn’t have time to comprehend the heron’s words. Hands were on his shoulders and lips were against his and the heron’s tongue just barely swiped along his bottom lip. Something tugged at his heart and he smirked; Tibarn had once told him (in a horrendously victorious manner) what it was like to kiss Reyson.

Words couldn’t describe this.

Whether Reyson was doing this intentionally or not, it was incredible. Naesala made a mental note to look into heron magic when he had a chance. Reyson chuckled softly and the raven smirked, catching the other man’s bottom lip between his own and gently sucking. Something caught in his chest and they both gasped, pulling away from each other. Something in the corner of his mind breathed _Naesala_.

“So I take it the feeling is mutual, then?”

Even flushed with embarrassment, Reyson laughed. “Yes. Now take your men and go. I’m needed elsewhere.”

“But—”

“Now. You’ll see me again, I promise you that much.”

“Tonight?”

“Do as I’ve said.” There was warning in the prince’s eyes again. “You will see me again even if it isn’t until after this damned war. Get your men home to Kilvas, where they belong. I will not have you involve another country in this war.”

Naesala’s brow furrowed. “You can’t possibly think—”

“There is a distinct possibility.” Reyson smiled and leaned forward, kissing him again. “Go home, Naesala. I’m needed right now. Ike’s been hit and no healer will make it without my aid.”

“As you wish.” Naesala paused and pulled a ring off his finger. “Here. It’ll protect you, at least for the time being.”

“Go _home_ , Naesala.” Reyson looked angry but he took the ring and slid it onto one finger. “You will see me again eventually.”

“Mm. Take care.”

“I will.”

Naesala reached for the heron but Reyson spun out of the way, spreading his wings and taking to the skies. The king watched for a moment as the heron dodged the bolt from a ballistician.

When the heron disappeared, he retreated, calling his men as he went.

())CRAYOLA))> 

In all honesty, he hadn’t _expected_ Reyson to punch him. Ike, maybe. Tibarn almost definitely. Come to think of it, there were dozens who would have taken a swing at him if given the chance.

It came with being a pirate, he supposed. Rather, the king of a pirate nation. It wasn’t his _fault_ , per se, but with Begnion senators breathing down your neck for gold and threatening your people with a blood pact there wasn’t much else to do.

 _Earning_ money was certainly out of the question.

Naesala rubbed his cheek and fished around in his pocket for a vulnerary. “You’re going to shatter your hand again if you do that.”

“Why are you _here_? Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

“You said to go home. Isn’t home supposed to be where the heart is?”

The prince gave him a look and downed the vulnerary. His bones popped back into place and he winced. Gently Naesala caught the blonde’s hand and kissed it. Reyson flushed.

“Now is hardly the time for flattery. How did you get past the night watch?”

“The night watch consists of Janaff and that sniper on the side I came in through. Janaff’s given me a single mark’s time to see you.” He chuckled. “Though if that sniper has his way, Tibarn’s Eyes will be too agitated to do anything other than yell at him all night.”

“ _I’ll_ yell at you all night if you don’t go home. Your country needs a king. You _cannot_ get involved in this, Naesala. Lehran’s Medallion will wake up the goddess, and _then_ what will we do?”

“I won’t get involved in the war,” Naesala replied. “I only plan to get involved with you.”

Reyson muttered something under his breath but Naesala only grinned devilishly.

“I’d like a kiss. It’s been a long day.”

“Naesala—”

“Please?” Naesala put on his best asking-a-favour face. Reyson looked the other way.

“You didn’t listen to me when I told you to go home and rule your people instead of getting involved in this. Why on earth should I even consider giving you what you want right now?”

“Because you could potentially earn us both a night of mind-blowing sex.”

Reyson turned an unhealthy shade of red. “I will _not_ sleep with someone immediately. Whether the attraction is mutual or not. Do you know how long it took Tibarn to earn himself that privilege?”

“A week?”

“Seven months,” Reyson replied. “You will either be satisfied with kissing me or I will report to Ike that we have pirates in the camp. That wouldn’t be a lie, would it?”

Naesala frowned. “I have my reasons for what I do. We’re both adults here and have our own reasons for doing things. Pirating has saved Kilvas from a century’s worth of debt. I am not proud but I have no choice.”

Reyson lowered his gaze. “I suppose.”

Naesala sighed. “Listen…just forget it, alright? I’ll go home to Kilvas and I’ll see you again when fate should make it so.” He released Reyson’s hand and turned to leave.

The snap of a belt caught him on the rear.

He yelped and turned. Reyson chuckled, tossing his belt to one side. “King Kilvas, I don’t believe I said a courtship could not be pursued. Nor did I state that you could not stay the night and visit me occasionally.”

“I thought you couldn’t fight!”

The heron grinned. “This is not fighting. There is no malicious intent and neither of us would emerge harmed. Besides,” he continued, looking away, “the rumour mill says you like it.”

Naesala chuckled and pulled the prince close. “Well, you’ll have to see if the rumour mill is correct, won’t you?”

He gasped softly as Reyson kissed his throat. All lips and tongue and hot wetness trailing over his Adam’s apple, his collarbone, over the exposed strip of his chest. Teeth scraping across his skin; Reyson _wouldn’t_ —

But the heron’s teeth sank into his skin and he sucked, drawing blood to the surface and making a mark that would last for days.

“You’re completely aroused,” Reyson said, smirking and pressing a gentle kiss to the bite. “I always had assumed you were a masochist.”

Naesala made a face. “I thought you couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“It’s the _intention_ ,” Reyson emphasized. “I’m not trying to kill you or even hurt you. I suppose it’s a side effect but that’s hardly my fault, is it?”

The raven grinned. “I don’t know. We had better make sure.”

“You just want—”

“Of _course_ I do. You’re a remarkable young man and I’d like to pursue you. And be pursued back, if the feeling is mutual.”

Reyson made a face and pressed his forehead against Naesala’s. “Would you really be bleeding from so intimate a mark if I felt any other way?”

“I’m not—” But even as he said it he felt the warm trickle of blood down his chest. _Reyson_ had done this?

“Mm. You should get that looked at.” Then Reyson smirked. “Is that acceptable or do I have to do it again?”

The king pretended to think about it. “I still think we should make sure this is something your delicate heron system can handle. Just as a precaution, of course.”

“Of course.” Reyson looped his arms around Naesala’s neck and drew him close. He grinned. “You’re really in for it now, you realize.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


	12. In which Zihark is annoyed

Face coverings pissed him off.

It was a personal thing, really. Maybe it had come from being with the mercenaries for the better part of five months. They wore little to no real armour. None of the nonsense that Daein had, with thirty extra pounds of metal to weigh them down. Ike had enough to cover his sword arm. The knights wore what was necessary to protect them; Brom was slowed from age and Gatrie had an old injury that had never quite healed. Both needed the armour to protect themselves, but their armour was at least easy to recognize. There was no confusing royal blue for Daein, and Brom’s size said enough for who he was. Oscar and Kieran spent so much time shouting to each other on the battlefield that there was no mistaking either of them. Rhys wore no armour and more recently had stopped wearing his hood over his face. Soren was the same, all violet robes and nothing hiding who he was. Most of the mercenaries—well, it was more like an army, now—kept their faces uncovered at all times.

Except for Volke.

The man didn’t seem to give a horse’s ass what anyone thought of him and time and time again Zihark had caught him staring past the boundaries of the camp as though he intended to leave. When confronted, the assassin’s eyes would narrow only slightly and he would explain that he had a contract with Ike that he meant to see through to the end.

It had to be frustrating, though. Volke was an outsider. He had been from the start. On the way to Begnion from Port Toha he’d done his best to avoid the others and succeeded, and that had been on a _ship_. On solid ground it took the assassin perhaps ten seconds to check in with Ike that he wasn’t needed and then disappear.

Zihark supposed it was all a way to hide. Maybe the man hated his job; it was certainly a possibility given how much he would drink after a particularly gruesome battle. Even in his tent at night he wore the mask, and _that_ certainly grated against Zihark’s nerves as well.

Who needed to cover their face when they were _alone_?

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Why do you wear that all the time? It can’t be comfortable.”

“Fifty gold.”

Zihark sighed; he had been expecting this. Volke never let any information go without a price tacked onto the end. He’d saved his pay for the last month. It wouldn’t be enough. That much was certain. But maybe he’d be allowed some insight, at least.

He’d saved seven hundred and eighty gold. That had to get him _somewhere_ , at least.

He tossed the coins over without a word and smirked as Volke’s eyes widened. The fabric over his face twitched just slightly. Was he smirking as well? Zihark had seen the assassin’s face set into something other than a frown a handful of times.

“Anonymity. Why would I let people know who I am and try to forge something as tedious as a friendship with me?”

“I don’t—”

“Two hundred gold.”

Again Zihark handed the coins over. Volke’s expression stayed the same (or at least, his mask didn’t twitch the way it had before).

“Friendships are pointless. I have no time to waste on something such as a relationship.”

“I see. If gold can’t buy it you’ll have nothing to do with it. Is that why you hide?”

“Thirty thousand.”

“I think it is.” Zihark ignored the request for money. If this was how it was meant to go, then dammit, he would _try_. “You spend all your time wearing it whether you’re fighting or alone in your tent. Or is it that you’re disgusted with your job? How many women and children have you murdered?”

“Enough.”

“Two hundred fifty gold.”

Now he was _sure_ Volke was smiling. His eyes were too gentle for him to be smirking. Wordlessly he handed Zihark’s gold back to him. Zihark nodded and didn’t speak.

“Get out of my tent.”

“One hundred.”

At once a blade was at his throat. The assassin’s eyes were hard again. Zihark didn’t move. The blade dug against his skin and he felt it cut through.

“I am not here to judge you. I want you to open up to _someone_ in this damned place. It’s not healthy to stay closed away from people.”

“I fight with you, don’t I?” The blade didn’t pull away but it didn’t sink in further either. Zihark felt the prickle of blood trailing down his neck. “That’s enough.”

“Once every two and a half weeks is not enough. You need to properly interact with people. It’s not like we’ll suddenly leave anyways.”

“Seven hundred eighty.”

“For what? Another sideways answer that won’t give me anything I want anyways?”

“For a proper answer. Assassin’s honour.”

“Somehow I doubt that that means anything.” Still, Zihark handed his wallet over. Volke cocked an eyebrow.

“Is my well-being really that important to you? Because I haven’t had a good shag in quite a while.”

“I prefer women over men, thank you. Answer my question.”

“You have no idea what horrors assassins visit upon each other.” The blade was gone completely now and Volke sat cross-legged on his bedroll. “If we can find out what another finds precious we will do all we can to eliminate it. It’s often enough to make someone leave the guild. Fewer assassins means better business for those of us who remain.”

“Sounds morbid.”

“Remarkably.”

“So why didn’t you bother wearing it until recently?” Zihark frowned and tentatively sat across from Volke.

“Nobody knew where I was. Daein has assassins on their side and I killed them before they could report back to the guild.”

“Why?”

“Nobody knows where I am. I have been missing for six years, on a job for Ike’s late father and now working for Ike. We’re experiencing more and more from the guild as of late. I’ve stopped wearing the same colors so I’m not as easy to recognize. The only thing recognizable is how I fight. The people who recognize me are the ones I go after first; those who don’t give me a second look are ignored.”

“I see.” Zihark was silent for a moment. “But when you fight…I’ve seen you. You’re a terror. I wouldn’t last a minute against you. Nobody would. Nobody _has_.”

“I can’t take the risk.”

“If you have no one dear to you then why bother?”

“I would be killed for abandonment.”

Zihark nodded. “I see.” Then he smiled. “Thank you.”

“Take your gold.”

The swordmaster frowned. “Why?”

Volke sighed heavily and slid his mask off. “The conversation was enough.”

Zihark smiled. “I told you it was good for you.”

“Mm. Don’t get used to it.” He tossed Zihark’s wallet back. “Get in your own bedroll. Otherwise I really _will_ have my way with you.”                                                                                                                                                                       

“You would not.”

Volke shrugged and examined the ties of their tent to ensure it wouldn’t fall apart in the middle of the night. A gust blew into their tent and Zihark shuddered, pulling his blanket further around him. Snow flecked his hair and Volke cursed, tying the fabric more tightly together. Something that might have been an apology was muttered into the chill air. Then he smirked as he heard Zihark’s teeth chattering.

“Shove over.”

The swordmaster raised an eyebrow and Volke shuffled next to him, pulling his bedroll and extra blanket with him. Wordlessly he stripped his shirt off, ignoring the gooseflesh that rose on his skin. Boots were kicked off and his pants were removed.

Zihark stared.

“What are you _doing_?” he demanded, pulling the blanket closer around him.

“You’ll freeze to death at this rate. You’re not used to the cold.”

“Getting naked hardly seems productive.”

Volke chuckled. “If I’m wrong, I owe you a thousand gold.”  He reached over and pulled Zihark’s blanket from him and raised one eyebrow expectantly. The swordsman let out a frustrated growl and peeled his shirt off.

“There. Happy?”

“Pants too. Trust me.”

“Volke, I’m not—”

“Interested in men. I never said I was looking for sex. You’re cold and I have a solution.”

“A c-counterp-product-tiv-ve…”

Volke cursed under his breath and slid off the other man’s pants with ease. Zihark’s skin heated as the assassin pressed against him. Gooseflesh rose over their skin and Zihark pulled his blanket overtop the two of them without thinking. Volke smirked.

“You’ve got the right idea,” he murmured against Zihark’s neck. The swordmaster was still shivering but not nearly as violently as he had been. Volke pulled his own blanket and bedroll overtop them as well, cocooning them in blankets and body heat. Then his arms were around Zihark, legs entangled and the swordmaster’s still-shaking torso pressed against his own.

“I’m s-still not int-t-terested in s-sex,” Zihark stammered through chattering teeth.

“What about a kiss, then?” Volke smirked.

“Fifty gold,” Zihark replied. The assassin couldn’t possibly want to give away gold simply for a kiss.

“I’ll pay you later,” Volke replied. He reached for the swordsman’s chin and tilted the other man’s head just slightly. “Fifty in total or fifty each?””

“V-Volke…”

“In total, then.”

Zihark didn’t have time to reply. Volke was kissing him and it was warm and gentle and the best thing he’d felt in ages.

An hour of heated kisses later, he wasn’t cold anymore.


	13. In which Kieran's sex life is furthered

 

“You’re an _idiot_ ,” Oscar scolded. “Really, couldn’t you have found a better time to be wounded like this?”

“It’s hardly _my_ fault. That wyvern came out of nowhere.” Kieran made a face. “Besides, _you’re_ the one who was off fighting three mages and not paying attention to the well-being of your sworn rival.”

“Three mages, two with Elthunder tomes and one with a Tornado. I hardly think that such a battle is simpler than avoiding something thrice your size.”  

“Out of _nowhere_ ,” Kieran insisted. He smiled gently and leaned back on his pillows. “Wyverns have that ability, you know.”

“Idiot.” Still, Oscar settled next to the redhead, avoiding the other man’s wounded shoulder. “It’s not the injury itself. It’s that you could have moved, or retaliated, or paid more attention in the first place. Aimee has no more Heal staves and there’s only so much one can do with vulneraries.”

“You still love me.” Kieran flushed slightly. “Right?”

“Of course.” Oscar chuckled and slung an arm across the redhead, pulling him as close as he dared. “Even though you’re an idiot who gets stabbed in the shoulder and loses his axe in the digestive tract of a wyvern.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Oscar smiled and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Kieran’s lips. The redhead grinned and entangled his fingers in the other man’s hair.

“I’m not made of glass,” he murmured against the other man’s lips. “You’re allowed to touch me.”

“You’re wounded,” Oscar replied, pressing his lips against the exposed strip of Kieran’s neck. “I don’t want to make your injury worse.” He smirked and shifted just slightly, one leg pressed between Kieran’s and his left hand trailing smoothly over the redhead’s chest. His tongue traced along Kieran’s pulse and the other man gasped softly, fingers gripping Oscar’s hair. Kisses trailed to his mouth.

“You’re gorgeous,” Oscar murmured. “Even when you’re missing a piece of one arm and bandaged. You’re just…mmm. I’m not sure how to put it.”

“We could say that you love me more than anything.” The redhead grinned and stuck out his tongue. Oscar took the opportunity and caught it between his teeth, drawing a surprised but not at all distressed gasp.

“Of course I do,” Oscar murmured, releasing the knight. “I’ve loved you for years.”

Kieran smiled and drew the other man close with his good arm. “I’m glad. Letting you leave was difficult. I love you so much. I don’t ever want this to end. I love being with you, I love being in love with you, I love knowing that you care for me just as much as I care for you.”

“You have no idea,” Oscar breathed. He paused, sat up, and slipped his shirt off. Contact like this—bare skin on bare skin—had been lacking for the past few days; Rolf had needed to stay in their tent due to his own catching on fire due to a stray Elfire spell. It hadn’t been _terrible_ , but Rolf had slept between them. _Between_. Knowing full well that Oscar and Kieran slept next to each other every night.

Oscar suspected that this was revenge for the meatball incident.

But his thoughts were cut off as Kieran pulled him down and kissed him. Everything vanished into thin air. All that remained were the lips moving against his, the arms around him, the warm skin pressed against his own.

Simply _Kieran_.

())CRAYOLA))>

It turned out that Rhys’ tent was beside theirs. They hadn’t _really_ meant to eavesdrop. But when voices were elevated it was hard not to hear, and the knights ended up curled in each other’s arms, half-dozing and half-listening to Rhys and Ulki. Something about kissing. Kieran chuckled as he listened; Oscar nuzzled the other man’s neck and half-heartedly tried to distract him.

It was only natural to be curious about your friends’ love lives, wasn’t it?

But as time passed Ulki seemed to grow more and more frustrated and Rhys seemed to grow angrier and angrier. The loud talking turned to shouting and pointed fingers and eventually Rhys stormed out of the tent, fuming. Ulki shouted after him but he was ignored. Oscar sighed.

“Someone ought to go talk to them,” he murmured. Kieran made a face.

“I talked to Rhys the last time something went wrong in his love life,” the redhead pointed out. “Besides, I’m not supposed to strain my arm any more than it already has been.”

“Tentative about an injury?” Oscar chuckled. “I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”

Kieran looked away and flushed. “In all honesty, Mist put something in my dinner. I can’t stand.”

It took all he had for Oscar to not burst out laughing. “I knew she’d get fed up with you eventually.” He stretched and pulled on his cloak. Spring or not, it was still cold at night. “I’ll go have a chat with him.”

“Mm. Don’t be too long.”

Oscar leaned down and kissed him. “Of course not.”

Upon leaving his tent he ran straight into Ulki. They stumbled and nearly fell. Ulki muttered something under his breath. Oscar chose to ignore it.

“Are you both alright?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

“An argument.” Ulki’s eyes didn’t meet his. “Nothing that cannot be solved through conversation.”

Oscar nodded. “Would you like me to talk to him?”

“No. This is between us only.” A pause. Ulki’s face softened slightly. “Thank you for your consideration.”

“Of course. It’s good to at least try to solve conflicts between friends, yes?” Oscar smiled. “Good luck.”

“Mm.” The hawk nodded and took to the air. Oscar watched him for a moment, and then slid back into his tent. Kieran looked up, surprised.

“That hardly took any time at all,” the other man commented. “You didn’t talk to Rhys at all.”

Oscar shook his head and briefly explained. Kieran just smiled.

“Well, that gives you a little more time with me. Besides, things should work out. We scrap all the time.”

The lance knight nodded and settled against Kieran and blew out their lantern. Dim light from a nearby campfire just barely illuminated their tent. Just enough for them to see each other. Kieran smiled.

“Kiss me?” he asked, pulling Oscar close. The green-haired man chuckled.

“You’re addicted,” he murmured, lightly flicking the tip of his tongue across the other man’s lips. Kieran bridged the gap between them momentarily.

“Only if it’s you,” he replied.

That was all it took for Oscar to kiss him mercilessly. Tongues met and Oscar’s shirt was peeled off and Kieran’s lips were on his neck. The redhead pulled Oscar on top of him and lightly ground their hips together, eyes searching for any sign that he should stop. The other man smiled and kissed him.

“Only with you,” he murmured.

They continued. Their tongues slid together messily and Oscar’s hands reached up to flick over the redhead’s nipples and Kieran let out a gasp of pleasure as he did so. Kieran’s legs loosely hooked around Oscar’s and pulled them together at the hips. Oscar’s hands roamed the flat plane of Kieran’s chest, down his stomach, just below his waist. A soft gasp escaped Kieran as Oscar reached between them and squeezed his cock through his pants. He pulled the other man close, kissing him passionately even as the lance knight stroked him. Then Oscar’s hand was slipping into his pants and squeezing and _Ashera_ , where had he learned to do _this_?

Kieran bit back a groan. Oscar was trailing a line of slow, wet kisses down his neck, over his collarbone. He bit his bottom lip to keep from moaning and instead fisted a hand into the green hair of his lover as the other man’s lips and teeth closed around a nipple. Oscar’s mouth was hot and gentle and now and again he would scrape his teeth, sending jolts of pleasure through Kieran. His hand was warm and tight and Kieran found himself thrusting into it as Oscar jerked him off. His breathing was ragged and he was flushed and biting his lip to keep from crying out in pleasure.

Oscar bit down sharply and that was all it took. Kieran came, spurting his seed over both their bellies and not quite stifling a cry of pleasure. He hissed Oscar’s name from between clenched teeth and continuing bucking into the knight’s hand until he was completely spent. Oscar leaned up and kissed him. Kieran flushed.

“Th-that w-was—”

“I love you,” Oscar murmured. “I…did you…was that alright?”

Kieran chuckled softly. His lips met Oscar’s gently. “Unexpected. But certainly alright.” Then he flushed, looking away briefly. “I would love to repay the favour somehow.”

“Well, maybe you can put that big mouth of yours to good use,” Oscar chuckled.

He’d meant for it to be a joke. But Kieran was rolling them over despite Oscar’s protests about his wounded shoulder. Then he was slithering down the lance knight’s body, kissing and licking the entire way until finally—

Oh.


	14. In which there is an explanation

 

Rhys wasn’t particularly hard to track down. He was breathing heavily from the cold air and the moon was full, illuminating the grove of trees where he’d stopped. His white robes were easy to pick out and Ulki sat on the ground next to him. Neither spoke. Rhys kept picking at the bits of dead grass near his hands. Ulki wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He’d had girlfriends and boyfriends before, but not Rhys. The bishop with an emotional side and a fear of the bedroom.

Finally he stretched a wing out and draped it over Rhys’ shoulders. “You will catch a chill if you are not careful.”

“I’ll be fine.” The other man’s voice was soft. Unhappy. It was expected, considering the shouting they had just done. It still hurt to hear it. Almost as badly as it had hurt to hear Rhys choking back tears as he fled.

“I am sorry.”

 _That_ sent Rhys over the edge. He turned and Ulki could practically _hear_ the fire in his eyes.

“You’re _sorry_? That doesn’t even begin to cover things! I’ve been with you for months, doing almost anything you’ve wanted to! You asked for a kiss and I gave it to you! You asked for my neck and I let you there, too. Your hands roam wherever they want when we’re in bed together. I let you take my robes off. And now you’re asking for my pants, too? That’s—that’s—”

“I am sorry,” Ulki repeated. His hand found Rhys’ on the ground and he let their fingers brush together. “I pushed you when you were not ready.”

Rhys caught his hand gently. “You did. Please understand that I…it’s not something I’m comfortable with yet. I’ve been through a lot and being n-naked with someone else… _intimately_ …is s-something I c-can’t do.”

The man’s heart was pounding. Ulki could hear it, hear his breathing, hear him swallowing and pulling in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The hawk edged closer and touched Rhys’ shoulder. The bishop turned and at once they both knew the effort to hold back had been wasted.

Ulki didn’t say anything. He pulled Rhys close and enfolded them both in his wings. The bishop’s hands clutched at his shirt as he choked back sobs. Ulki leaned down, rested his cheek in the coppery silk of Rhys’ hair.

“I cannot understand unless you tell me,” he murmured. “I want to understand.”

“I’m scared,” Rhys breathed. “People have attacked me before. I’m frail and easy to take control of. Relationships in particular scare me.” He pulled in a deep breath and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I know that you wouldn’t hurt me, Ulki. Not intentionally. But I’m still afraid.”

“I understand.” The hawk pressed a kiss against the bishop’s forehead and gently began stroking the man’s hair. “I love you. You know that, correct?”

Rhys nodded. Ulki kissed him. Tenderly, gently. A loving press of lips, warm hands, soft feathers. Nobody, upon seeing the hawk at first, would have dreamed he were this gentle. Sure, he pushed. That sort of thing happened in relationships sometimes. One person would want and the other would be unaware, perhaps shy. But Ulki had never demanded, never forced. Only suggested and smiled and promised that Rhys would never be hurt.

The words that broke their kiss were nearly unbearable.

“I was raped.”

Ulki tensed. Rhys bit the inside of one cheek. His hands caught the hawk’s and squeezed.

“I was fifteen,” he murmured, settling against Ulki’s chest. He could feel the hawk’s heart pounding against his cheek. “Still training to become a priest. One of my fellow students said that he liked me. There’s nothing in sacred texts about homosexual relationships, you know. Nothing forbidding such a union. We both knew that, so we started seeing each other.

“My mother was good about it; my father never found out. And it wasn’t terribly obvious, either. Dinner now and again, a stolen kiss in church where only Ashera could see. His hands would wander when we were alone and he’d start undressing me without asking but whenever I told him to stop he would. He wouldn’t necessarily be happy about it but he would stop.

“A few months later he decided he’d had enough of waiting.” Rhys’ grip tightened on Ulki’s hands. “There was a sermon going on. The whole village was in the church and he dragged me out to the barn. Tore off my robes, tied my hands so I couldn’t fight, gagged me so I couldn’t call for help. Nobody would have heard anyways but he didn’t want to take any chances.”

“You told someone afterwards, didn’t you?”

Rhys shook his head. “I didn’t have to. You come into church stumbling and bleeding…someone notices and demands help at once. I don’t remember what happened; I was unconscious for two days. But my mother told me that the village clerics treated me. One of them was a Spirit Charmer and she found out what had happened to me.” He chuckled. “She was so angry that she went after him by herself. By the time my own mother found out and wanted a piece of him, there wasn’t anything left.”

Silence. Ulki’s face was grim. The bishop leaned forward and hugged him.

“What’s done is done,” he murmured. “You can’t go back and fix it. I know you would if you could, and that means the world to me.”

The hawk’s expression softened only slightly. “I need to meet this cleric one day and thank her.”

“You can’t,” Rhys murmured. “She died in an attack years and years ago. Bandits, looking to rob a village of mages and priests.” He made a face. “Stupid. Beyond stupid. It’s well-known in that region of Crimea that we’ve got very little. Maybe they were just looking for something to do, maybe catch themselves a cleric or three.” Rhys smiled. “We fought, though. A call went out to a nearby mercenary group but we still had to fight until they got there to help us. So the four swordsmen we had went on the front lines, all the mages behind them, and the healers scattered in between. We hardly lost anyone, but…Mati was one of them. She saved so many, and while she was giving life back one of them caught her off-guard.” Rhys pulled in a deep breath to steady himself. “Cleaved her nearly completely in two. I’d never seen something like that happen so quickly. I tried to save her but…I wasn’t strong enough.” He chuckled. “Goodness, I just can’t seem to stop talking.”

“Send her a prayer for me,” Ulki whispered. “I am thankful that she helped to save you. To prevent others from gaining the same painful experience. Please tell her.”

Rhys smiled. “Stupid Ulki.” He pressed a kiss to the other man’s lips. “You just _did_. Praying, speaking to those who have passed on…it isn’t formal. We have churches as a place for people with the same beliefs to be in one place and worship together. That’s all. You thanked her yourself with what little you said.”

Silence again. Longer this time. Ulki’s arms around Rhys were far more relaxed; the bishop’s breathing had slowed to its normal pace. The sounds of camp were far off, forgotten. Rhys finally broke the silence.

“I love you,” he murmured. “Give me time. I know that it was years ago, but…it comes back. It’s terrifying. I know you wouldn’t. But that doesn’t change that I’m scared.”

“Take all the time you need. I can wait.” Ulki sighed. “I do not want to wait. I want to be with you. Not sex. It is too soon for that. I want to hold you at night like I always do but with nothing between us. To do so with someone you love is truly a good feeling.” Then the hawk smiled. “What do your sacred texts say about a union between laguz and beorc?”

Rhys smiled. “There’s nothing forbidding a laguz and beorc from being together, sharing a home, a family. I think…that the Goddess wants us all to be equals, so she’ll take the pair and give them an equal share of power. Laguz supposedly lose their ability to shift forms and the beorc gain strength, speed, life span. Enough for them to be together with each other and their children. The church states that this is to make each an abomination to their own race, and that the child will be marked, but it’s not true. It’s a rumour that Begnion started ages ago to justify the killing of the Branded and the slavery of the laguz. It’s terrible that holy men who have read Ashera’s word refuse to read the truth. Instead they modify texts to suit their own thoughts and needs.”

“Religion is corrupt,” Ulki murmured. “There will always be those who do as they please.” He squeezed the bishop tightly and leaned in. “You are not one of those men. Ashera bless you, Rhys.”

Rhys flushed as Ulki kissed him. Still gentle, still patient. The hawk’s wings enfolded him and Rhys lay back against the cold earth, bringing Ulki with him.

“I love you,” he breathed. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“Always,” Ulki replied.

Rhys didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant by that; Ulki was kissing him again and pulling him close and the world dissolved into kisses and entangled limbs and body heat.

Neither of them regretted falling asleep, not even when Shinon stumbled across them the next morning and began spouting nonsense about holy men and gay sex. They were sure that he’d _meant_ to drag them back to camp, but they’d stayed ten paces behind him, whispering sweet nothings and stealing kisses the entire way.


	15. In which Sothe gets yelled at

“Up. We’re marching in an hour.”

Sothe groaned as Ike threw open the shutters. Beside him, Tormod let out a similar groan and burrowed further into his pillow. “It’s hardly past dawn,” the thief complained. “Why on earth do we need to leave so early?”

“We’re hitting the capital tomorrow morning. Early, before they’ve had a chance to wake up fully. It…” Ike paused momentarily, thinking, then shrugged. “It gives us the element of surprise. Or at least I think that’s what Soren meant.”

Sothe chuckled. “And how did you manage to come out of a staff meeting intact? I imagine you had your sword drawn the entire time?”

Ike blinked. “I…what?”

“Soren looked ready to murder you until you died from it,” Tormod muttered. “After you gave the order to split our rations with Talrega, I mean. That was almost a week ago and he hasn’t settled since. And he’s clearly sick; every morning he’s in his tent sulking and drinking that tea Rhys makes to settle his stomach. You ought to apologize before this gets worse. Otherwise he’ll be terribly ill just like Rhys always is and we can’t have _two_ healers down for the count. That leaves only Mist and she can’t handle healing the entire company by herself.”

“Can’t _you_ use a staff?” Ike asked.

Tormod shook his head. “Heal staves and I never got along. Sothe’s been teaching me to use daggers anyways.” He yawned and sat up. “Do I get to fight today, boss?”

“Both of you,” Ike replied. “I’ve left you out for the last few battles but I know you’ve been working hard. See what you can dig up for breakfast and then find me. You’re helping lead the march.”

It was Sothe’s turn to blink. “Us? Why _us_?”

“Because it’s easy to relax around you. Tension is high and I think it would be a relief for everyone to have people to joke around with for a bit.”

Tormod saluted, suddenly in a far better mood. “Yes sir! Humour shall be maintained!”

“Good. Dig together some breakfast and we’ll leave as soon as possible.” Ike smirked. “And Sothe?”

The thief looked up from where he’d been lounging in bed. “Mm?”

“Keep your neck covered.”

They couldn’t figure out what he’d meant until several minutes later. Then Tormod was flushing and Sothe was laughing, both of them having caught glimpse of the love bites that dotted the thief’s neck, shoulders and chest.

“For someone who’d hardly even considered a relationship three months ago, you’re being far more forward than I ever would have imagined.” He chuckled. “If you blush any harder your freckles will all disappear forever.”

Tormod made a face. “W-well you’re the one who lies there and begs for it! What else am I supposed to do?”

“Torment me until I’m ready to burst,” Sothe replied. He reached up and pulled the sage down, rolling them over and pinning the redhead to the mattress. “Sort of like what I did to you last night.”

“B-breakfast!” The word tore itself from the sage’s mouth and he struggled. Sothe just chuckled and kissed him.

“If we’re going to be concerned about covering marks,” Sothe murmured, licking a slow line up Tormod’s throat, “you had better keep your cloak fastened tight as well.”

The sage gasped as Sothe’s teeth nipped just below his collarbone. Sothe’s tongue followed suit and then he was sucking, drawing blood to the surface of his skin. Tormod bit back a moan and instead dug his nails into the thief’s shoulders as another harsh kiss was pressed several inches below the first. He would be covered in bites within five minutes; that was almost certain.

Laguz from Gallia did this when they were mating. Tormod was almost completely sure that Sothe understood the intimacy of such a mark. Every time the other boy’s teeth scraped his skin, every time Tormod placed the same sucking kisses on Sothe’s throat, they both knew. The implications that it would have for any laguz that caught sight. What Muarim would think.

Despite the worry, they did it anyways. Hiding their throats with their clothing, avoiding Muarim. Holding hands and stealing kisses when they thought nobody was looking, sneaking away from camp and kissing heatedly against the cold ground after dinner. Hands wandering into shirts, tracing scarred skin. Just like they were doing now, like they had been doing for days, weeks, months.

Sothe finally pulled away, grinning. “We match,” he murmured. “Now come on. We’ve gotta eat.”

Tormod smiled and pulled the thief close. “You just _did_.”

“There’s more of you I could eat and we both know it.” Then he chuckled. “I wouldn’t. Not until you say I’m allowed. _If_ you say I’m allowed.”

“Maybe one day,” Tormod whispered. “But not yet.”

“I love you,” Sothe murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the sage’s lips.

“Breakfast,” Tormod replied.

())CRAYOLA))>

Tormod had been right in one sense: Soren was certainly ill. Even now, at a mark past dawn, he was still in his room, pale and clenching a cup of Rhys’ tea in one hand and a quill in the other.

“You did inventory last night,” Ike murmured as he entered. “Go get something to eat.”

“You should have knocked,” Soren replied, not looking up from his parchment. “What did you have for breakfast?”

“I ate at the inn.” Ike frowned; he’d _never_ had to knock. “Go eat something, Soren. You’ve hardly had any contact with anyone since Talrega. I don’t know if you’ve eaten. In all likelihood you haven’t. All you’ve done is mope around for the past week. You’ve been depressed since _Begnion_ , dammit, and that was months ago.”

“You’ve never wondered, have you? About where you come from, who your parents are.” The sage still didn’t look up but he placed his quill in the inkwell and took another sip of tea. “All your life you’ve known who they were, at least, if not the intimate details of their lives. Your father was the founder of a mercenary company and he met your mother in Gallia while on the run from Daein after discontinuing his job as one of the king’s Four Riders. That at least you must have been able to piece together.”

“Of course I have. I’m not nearly as stupid as some people would have you think.” Ike paused and stepped forward, leaning on Soren’s desk. “I’m worried about you. You’ve hardly said a word to me.”

“I’ve been angry at you. You threw away what little we had to help the enemy. That is not a logical course of action when—”

“When faced with children who would starve to death otherwise? Children who would have lost their fathers in this damned war, children whose mothers might have had to resort to whoring to bring in gold?”

“It does not affect you. It is best to maintain our resources for as long as is possible.”

“I would rather go hungry for a week than have even more children lose their families. We’ve killed enough in battle as it is; now you want to begin starving people too? _That_ isn’t logical. Not to me.”

Soren stood to look Ike in the eye. “You really don’t care, do you? You would rather have a reputation as a good person than win this blasted war. You know that if we fail Crimea is virtually nonexistent. We are the only people who can give Elincia her country back and your selfishness is what is going to keep us from success.”

“So was it selfishness that took you in, then?” Ike’s fists clenched at his sides. “Was it concern about my reputation that made me beg my father to bring you home? Or did I just see something wrong with what was in front of me and try to change it? Don’t give me this bullshit about my reputation, Soren. You know I could care less about what people think of me.” Then he smiled. “It was concern for the boy in front of me. How he was going to stay alive with no home, no food, no money. It was the same for Talrega. Maybe I just care too much.”

“You can’t afford to care.”

“Don’t pretend you’re indifferent about this, Soren. If you’re angry then start yelling. Because that way, I can yell back, and then I’ll hold you and kiss you like I always do after we’ve fought and just maybe we can put all of this behind us.”

A smile threatened Soren’s lips but he held back. “You wasted resources. I can’t believe you! You’ve got a company to worry about! There’s nearly thirty of us to worry about now _plus_ the forces given to us by Begnion and here you’ve given our food and money to the people we’re fighting against! What about your sister? What will you do if she starves to death because of the next good deed you decide on?”

“I wouldn’t have done it if _you_ hadn’t told me there was another village within two day’s walk of Talrega. Lethe and Jill and Mist went to get enough food to keep us going until the rest of us reached it. Did you know that? Or were you too busy being angry at me to pay an ounce of attention to whatever happens outside that head of yours?”

Soren was silent. Absently he sipped his tea. “I will admit that I was concerned about inventory and was not aware. Although, as your staff officer, you should have told me.”

“I’ve never needed to before. Why would I start now? Everywhere I turn you’re there. You always know what’s happening one way or another. _You’re_ the one who tells _me_ these things.”

Silence again. “I apologize, Commander.”

Ike shook his head and smiled. “You never have to speak to me formally, Soren.”

“Ike.”

“Mm?”

“You’re an idiot.” The sage looked away and smiled. “I love you.”

Ike opened his arms and Soren fell into them, squeezing tightly. Ike kissed the top of his head and when he looked up Ike caught his lips, too.

“I told you it would work out this way,” he murmured. “I love you.”

Soren couldn’t help but laugh.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“…and that’s why you should never eat dumplings in a laguz bathhouse.”

Marcia burst out laughing. Behind her, Ilyana’s water voided itself out her nose as Mia nearly took them both down in a fit of laughter. Lethe and Jill smirked good-naturedly and Titania rolled her eyes. Astrid and Mist sank into a fit of giggles. Tormod struck a triumphant pose and looked to Ike.

“How’s _that_ for entertainment?” he asked, grinning like an idiot.

“Entertaining,” Ike chuckled. “I still don’t understand why you needed to break into song to avoid conflict.”

“Because of the cactus,” Tormod replied matter-of-factly. “It all had to do with the cactus; weren’t you listening?”

“He can’t help it,” Mist called to them. “He’s naturally thick. I bet he wants _dumplings_.”

The girls all burst out laughing at that. Soren sighed but even he was grinning. “It’s three marks past midday. We’re within an hour’s walk of the castle. I suggest that we set up camp and turn in early. That way we can ambush just before dawn.”

“The wytching hour,” Sothe murmured. “They’ll be completely dumbfounded.”

“The spirits are more active before dawn, too,” Tormod piped up. “If me and Ilyana and Soren and Rhys are all there we’ll be stronger. I’ll set ‘em on fire before they know what’s happening.”

“And will we find you in a corner with a dagger in one leg like last time as well?” Soren’s lips lifted into a smirk. “You’d think that someone who brags about being in tune with the spirits would be able to feel them warning him of danger.”

“He just doesn’t _listen_ ,” Mist replied. “I’m a staff user and I can hear spirits and move out of the way. Tormod’s too busy shouting about his magical expertise.” She twisted out of the way as Tormod threw a rock at her and flung a stale bun at him. It smacked him squarely in the forehead and he yelped. “See? They could have warned him about that.”

“They were laughing too hard at his idiocy,” Soren muttered. “Stop this at once. Tell everyone to set up camp.”

“Already done,” Jill called from atop her wyvern. “There’s a forest not far from here. We’ll have shelter from the last snows of winter and it’ll keep our visibility to a minimum. Your tent has already been set up so you and Ike can start making a battle plan immediately.”

Soren blinked. “Good. Tell everyone that they will fend for themselves tonight. We’re still running low on supplies and food. Once we’ve taken the castle I’m sure you’ll all find something to eat. Tell Shinon that if so much as touches alcohol I will personally tear his eyes out.”

Jill chuckled. “Of course.”

Ike made a face as the company followed the wyvern. “But it’s spring. It won’t snow.”

Soren shrugged. “Daein is known for its odd weather patterns. If Jill says that we are at risk for snow I see no reason to doubt her.” Then he smiled, checked to see that nobody was watching, and leaned up to kiss Ike. “And if we do end up snowed in it gives us one more day to ourselves.”

Ike didn’t bother checking to see if anyone was watching. He simply pulled the sage into his arms and kissed him. Somewhere in front of them Lethe and Jill were laughing but Ike didn’t stop. His tongue met Soren’s bottom lip and the sage obliged, meeting the commander’s tongue with his own. Hands snaked around his waist and vaguely Soren was aware of Titania telling Mist not to stare. Ike squeezed him tightly and pulled away just enough to look at him and smile.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so, so much. I’m sorry that I’m stupid sometimes.”

“You’re a complete _idiot_ ,” Soren replied. He reached up and ran his fingers across Ike’s cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

A final bout of laughter came from the girls as they kissed.

())CRAYOLA))>

Officially, Boyd was annoying.

It wasn’t that Sothe hadn’t _known_. With the antics put on nearly every time they set up camp it would have been an achievement _not_ to have noticed Boyd’s tendency to be an idiot. He’d set fire to the mess tent more than once and had come out of practice bleeding after insisting he was better with a bow than his brothers (with Shinon snickering in the background every time) and his most recent attempt at wooing Titania had earned him a broken nose and cracked ribs (which Soren and Mist had refused to heal).

This took the cake.

The warrior was fighting a group of halberdiers. With no _pants_. He’d kept his underclothes and that was all, and they left little to the imagination. Behind him, Mist was giggling and blushing as she held her Heal staff at the ready. Shinon was hiding in an alcove and muttering about how feathering Daein scum should have been _harder_ than this and Gatrie looked as though he were seriously contemplating stripping off his armour and joining the warrior. Tormod was laughing too hard to stand and was slumped against the wall. Every last soldier was either staring in morbid curiosity or already dead. Those who weren’t already there were drawn by the laughter.

Well, if shock value was what they were going for…

Sothe shrugged and took hold of Tormod. Hiding be damned; they could always say that it was to provide a distraction while they slaughtered the enemy. Muarim might not buy it but the rest certainly would.

The sage’s laughter slowed only slightly as Boyd let out a battle cry and cleanly removed a soldier’s head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed everywhere and the halberdiers that hadn’t been killed already shuffled nervously. How could a man with no pants on be _doing_ this?

“Enough, already!” A general with a too-large axe in one hand appeared from nowhere (nothing wearing that much armour should be able to _sneak_ , Sothe thought) and scowled. “All you wretches should be able to see past a man with no pants on! Sever his legs; that’ll give him a nice…slow…”

Sothe was ninety percent sure that the drifting speech was due to him. Rather, them. Tormod wasn’t objecting at all, really. Their bodies fit together and the sage’s mouth was hot and his fingers were digging into Sothe’s back as they pressed closer, up against a wall, all teeth and tongues and groping hands.

The general made a move for them but Tormod was already prepared, a spell on their lips. Sothe had heard the Elfire spell a thousand times by now and they whispered it together, lips brushing every few syllables. Then they were turning, lashing out. The spirits had had enough of waiting and attacked full force, melting skin and muscle, charring bones, ripping, tearing. A rush of adrenaline filled Tormod and he knew that Sothe felt it as well. Bloodlust. A search for another target, two, three, even ten. They could handle any number of enemies. They needed to kill; they were Goddessdamned _invincible_.

Then the thief was kissing him fervently, more passionately than he ever had before.

The bloodlust died as quickly as it had come.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Ike was only mildly impressed.

On one hand, Boyd’s antics combined with the heavy distraction and quick magical work of Sothe and Tormod had won them the battle. The victory had been well-earned.

On the other hand, Boyd had wandered into battle with no pants (Ike flinched at the mere thought of a lance piercing areas that simply should never be introduced to sharp objects in the first place). Sothe and Tormod had seized an opportunity to start—how had Marcia put it?—‘mackin’ face’ in the middle of what was (supposed to have been) the final battle of the war.

Sothe looked more and more pissed off as Ike lectured. Tormod stood beside him, their hands clasped together firmly despite the look Soren had given them when they’d entered the room. Boyd had already had a tongue-lashing from a rather dishevelled-looking Soren and was busy scrubbing pots with Oscar in the mess tent. The sage was currently sitting at the desk in what was now Ike’s room, half-listening to Ike’s lecture and writing something down on a piece of parchment. Sothe was hardly listening at all anymore. Instead he was busy noticing that Soren’s collar was high on his neck, effectively covering any marks that had potential to be there. Not that there _would_ be; Soren having a sex life was about as likely as Kieran being shy. Sothe decided that he should invest in clothing that fit that way; summers were warm no matter which way you looked at it, and a scarf wasn’t ideal.

Ike seemed to be wrapping up and Sothe looked at the floor, nodding. He caught something about the mess tent and when they were dismissed he trudged out of the room. The moment the door shut he grinned.

“Well, at least we’re not dead,” he said. Tormod gave him a look.

“You didn’t _have_ to kiss me after we killed the general,” he murmured.

“You had that look in your eye,” Sothe replied. He took hold of Tormod’s other hand and squeezed. “Like you were going to face all of them at once or something like that.”

“I…”

There was no right reply to _that_. Tormod looked away.

“It’s the spirits. They always want more. They’re hungry for the lives of others. That’s why Soren is such a terror when he’s fighting. He doesn’t always choke back the voices like Ilyana and Rhys and I do. If Ike’s been wounded then he’ll let go completely. You’ve seen him using Flare, right? When everything goes dark for a split second and then his opponent is gone? That’s what happens when you don’t hold back.”

“So it’s a good thing that I kissed you, then,” Sothe said. He leaned in and gently kissed Tormod’s cheek. “See? I knew it all along.”

“It’s a good thing Muarim didn’t see,” Tormod replied. “He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“I thought he wanted you to have a proper relationship with other beorc.”

“Not a romantic one. Not with a boy, anyways.” Tormod sighed. “He always said I’d find a nice _girl_ to settle down with.”

“Would a girl love you as much as I do?”

“Maybe.” The sage smirked. “I’d have to like her back, though. And I like _you_.”

Sothe chuckled. “Enough to kiss me right here, right now, even though someone might see?”

“Yes.”

Tormod’s mouth was instantly on his. Tongue flicking against his lips, teeth nipping at the tip of his tongue, hands wandering down to his butt and squeezing appreciatively. Sothe kissed him back, hands wandering just as quickly, lips trailing down the redhead’s throat, Tormod hissing his name as he went.

Mist and Boyd, who just happened to be turning into the corridor they were occupying, immediately burst out laughing and walked back the way they’d come.


	16. In which Janaff has some fun

“If you kill a priest you get docked pay.”

Groans followed that statement and Janaff could have sworn he saw Soren smirk. The sage looked pleased; money was nothing if not an incentive and nearly anyone would do what you said if you promised something that would affect their pay. Janaff knew that. Everyone knew that; it was the reason that Begnion was so corrupt.

“I don’t see why we can’t kill just _one_ ,” Volke was muttering somewhere nearby. Beside him, Zihark sighed.

“It’d be like taking an axe to Rhys just to see what would happen,” he replied.

“He’d dodge and give you a swift kick in the rear, that’s what would happen.” Rhys interrupted them, looking rather put out. “And then, with his Nosferatu tome, he’d pull your life straight into his own body.” He frowned. “Understood?”

“Half of these people are unarmed, anyways,” Zihark pointed out. “They’ve been taken hostage because the leader thinks that we’re the type of mercenaries that will do anything to get some gold.”

Volke muttered something under his breath that Janaff was sure was rude. The bishop sighed and headed back toward him.

“Cheer up,” Janaff said, patting the younger man on the back. “They’re using you as an example and nothing more.”

“I’m not made of glass,” Rhys replied. “And I’m sick of everyone assuming that I’m incapable of defending myself simply because I’m a holy man.”

“Cheer up,” the hawk repeated. “If it counts for anything, I’ve seen you fight. The only way you’d be stronger would be if you sold your soul to the spirits. And those folks are terrifying.”

“A Spirit Charmer,” Rhys replied. “Like Soren.”

Ulki shook his head as he stepped in beside the bishop. “Not like Soren. He is a powerful sage, yes. But there is something different about him. I don’t know what. It puts my feathers on edge sometimes.”

Janaff nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Lethe knows there’s something different about him but she won’t tell me what no matter how much I pester. All she does is threaten to tear out my flight feathers one by one.” He shuddered. “That sort of threat shouldn’t be allowed. Ever.”

Rhys finally smiled. Ulki leaned down and pressed a kiss to his brow while Janaff pretended not to see. Then the blonde grinned, taking hold of Rhys’ elbow.

“Come on, we’re taking the right side with Volke and Zihark. No sense in leaving them to their own devices; we’ll have a hundred clergymen to bury afterward.” The last part of his sentence was shouted in Volke’s direction. The assassin shouted something back but it was muffled by his mask and only Ulki heard.

“Nothing nice,” he responded when Rhys asked.

Janaff sighed.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Pushing around priests was far more fun than Janaff had given it credit for.

Half the time they went flying. Not just stumbling like Ilyana did when she was shoved, or flailing like Mia. They’d get airborne, sailing one or two feet before landing more or less on their feet and looking completely bewildered. It was more entertaining than anything had been in a long while. Sure, there were warriors and halberdiers and thieves to avoid, but the clergymen more than made up for it.

As he dodged an arrow he collided with a thief. The man’s blade was already drawn and he hefted himself up onto the hawk’s back, driving the blade into Janaff’s shoulder blade. He let out a cry and spun, slamming the thief into a wall and driving the blade in more deeply. He cursed and let himself slip back, feathers and beak receding, limbs elongating and clothing reappearing. The blade bit in even more deeply, right where his left wing met his back. He groaned and looked up helplessly. The thief was standing and had another knife in one hand, a smirk plastered across his face.

“Half-breed,” he spat. “Good riddance. No use for any of you.”

Janaff chuckled and weakly gave the man the finger. “I fucked your mother,” he replied.

And then the blade was descending, swift and fury-driven. The thief was aiming to drive it through his throat; this would be a reasonably painful death. Suffocating and bleeding out onto the floor of the church while the priests laughed at him, a dying half-breed.

Janaff didn’t flinch. He was a hawk; the least he could do was die with honour.

There was a loud _crack_. The blade clattered to the ground and the thief followed suit shortly afterwards. The blonde looked up, expecting Rhys. This was a familiar sound. A Heal staff cracking someone across the back of the head. Granted, it usually wasn’t enough to knock them out cold (except for the in the case of Kieran, where nobody was afraid of hitting too hard) but you never knew.

Rhys was nowhere to be seen. There were perhaps five priests standing in front of him, watching in hushed silence at the sixth. He resembled Rhys, certainly. Pale and skinny and his hands shaking as he gripped his staff. The thief on the ground groaned and started moving. The end of the staff met the back of his neck and this time something cracked. He twitched once and lay still.

Janaff stared. Then he chuckled.

“I don’t suppose you heal people with that staff as well as you beat the life out of them.” He smiled weakly. “Because I’ve got a knife in my back and let me tell you, it hurts like hell.”

The priest nodded. His hands hadn’t stopped shaking but he stepped forward. The other men were frozen in place as though they expected Janaff to leap forward and kill the priest at any given moment. Janaff sighed.

“I’m not going to hurt you. If you started beating me with that staff of yours _then_ we might have something to discuss but you’ve done nothing but cooperate with us as best you can given the situation. Now will you _please_ get this knife _out_ of me?”

The priest smiled. “O-of course.” He just barely hesitated as he looked at the blade jutting out of the hawk’s shoulder. “I…this is going to hurt.”

“At least you’re honest. Just get the damned thing out.” Janaff’s vision was swimming now; this wasn’t good. “ _Please_.”

It burned. Heat blossomed from the wound and the hawk bit his lip until it bled. Blood spurted and there were gasps as he fell. Spots danced in his vision and someone caught him. Familiar arms. Ulki. The light from a Shine spell blinded him and nearby he heard the clash of blades. Ulki said something but he couldn’t make it out; now his hearing was gone too.

He was dying. All because of a _thief_ and an idiot priest who couldn’t sort out the proper way to use a Heal staff. Tibarn would deny ever knowing him. What kind of aide was killed by a beorc thief? It was insulting.

“Come on, wake up.”

Janaff felt one of his eyebrows twitch. The voice was too _loud_. The least he could do was die in peace.

Loud.

That meant he could _hear_.

Opening his eyes was a slow process. Rhys was still casting that damned Shine spell every five seconds and every time Janaff thought he’d be alright there would be another glare directly in his eyes. Finally Ulki shouted at the bishop to stop it or there would be no kissing tonight (a thought which nearly broke Janaff’s mind). The light dulled to the glow of a Heal staff and Janaff cracked his eyes open, relieved when he found that he could pick out each separate splinter of wood in the ceiling. Someone breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness. I thought I was too late.”

It was the priest who’d killed the thief. He was smiling and keeping a white-knuckled grip on his staff. Nearby, the others were murmuring amongst themselves. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good; Ulki was slowly becoming more and more infuriated. Janaff nudged him with one elbow.

“I think I can stand. Put me down.”

Ulki still didn’t say anything and he didn’t tear his eyes away from the priests, either. Janaff kept a grip on his arm and when Rhys appeared beside him he caught the bishop’s as well. Then he smiled at the priest who had helped him.

“Thank you. I appreciate someone who is willing to help the wounded. You’re a good beorc.”

More murmuring at that. It was to be expected; how many of these people had ever heard of laguz being _nice_?

What really seemed to do it for them was when the call went that everything was safe, that Kieran had lopped off the lead bandit’s arm and that the rest of the man was bleeding out onto the floor. There was a sigh of relief from everyone around them. The murmuring turned decidedly more pleasant.

Briefly. Until Rhys had let go of Janaff, flung his arms around Ulki and kissed him.

In their defence, Rhys hadn’t been thinking. Janaff had seen this a thousand times from countless couples in the army. Ike kissing Soren when he thought that nobody was looking (which, technically, they _weren’t_ , because really it wasn’t Janaff’s _fault_ that he could see miles ahead of him and that he had really good peripheral vision). Stefan letting himself get swept up into an embrace by Mordecai. Oscar and Kieran; Mia and Ilyana; Tormod and Sothe. If Elincia could have gotten away with kissing Ike she would have.

But the priests and bishops here were stunned into silence. Rhys had explained the sacred texts to him one day; Janaff knew that nothing forbid men from seeing one another, that nothing was said about laguz and beorc.

Apparently these men had forgotten.

Janaff nudged Ulki. When that didn’t work he kicked the taller hawk. An irritated looked met him but he shrugged it off.

“You’re about to start another fight,” he pointed out, “and I’m almost completely sure that General Ike wouldn’t appreciate such a thing.”

Rhys turned an unusual shade of red and caught Janaff’s elbow so quickly that the hawk was almost sure that whatever healing that had been done would be reversed. The clergymen were still glaring at them and still murmuring but they headed toward the chapel, where Ike had been headed.

Moments later a hand with an iron grip caught Janaff’s left wing. This time something _did_ tear out of place and Janaff let out a cry, stopping in his tracks. This made the arm that was looped around Rhys’ jerk forward and he felt heat blossom again. He hadn’t been healed all the way. He fell to his knees, taking Rhys with him.

His face was calm as he asked Janaff questions. Whether or not he had a vulnerary and could he swallow maybe one or three doses and what had _happened_? Janaff explained and at once Rhys’ expression had hardened. He pulled out a vulnerary and helped Janaff take it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he grinned; Rhys had promised them all that he would improve the way the damned things tasted, and somehow he _had_.

Then the bishop was standing and leaning his staff against a wall. The man who had tried to stop them was standing proudly, as though he’d done something commendable. The others—dared they?—looked ready to burst into applause. All except the priest that had healed Janaff.

“Sub-humans don’t deserve to live,” was the man’s logic. “One of our own clergy has healed one? He’ll be punished, I promise you that.” Then he scowled. “And a holy man has formed a union with a half-breed? What would cause you to commit such a sin?”

“I’ve read the Texts,” Rhys replied. His eyes were cold. “Any true bishop, any true worshipper of Ashera knows the truth. Not once have I ever questioned or ever regretted my relationship with Ulki. I love him. Do you understand that?” Then he snorted. “I suppose you don’t. The oblivious only ever focus on themselves.”

That did it; the man took a swing at Rhys with his staff. Rhys ducked underneath and aimed a punch of his own. It landed solidly and Janaff let out a cheer. The bishop’s lips curved upward into a smirk as the doors to the chapel clattered open and Ike entered.

“I heard shouting. What’s going on?”

Janaff scowled. “Nothing that isn’t deserved.”

The bishop was standing now, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. He made a move toward Rhys but both Ulki and Ike stepped forward. The rest of the mercenaries were filing in now. Soren and Mia on either side of their commander, Shinon and Gatrie crouched next to Janaff. The sniper had two arrows already strung. Loose, but Janaff knew that they could be sent flying in an instant. The hawk smiled. Shinon might have hated laguz but it was nothing a little ale one night hadn’t fixed. Now they were speaking to one another, drinking together. Janaff had even started walking alongside the sniper while they marched. And now Shinon was fully prepared to protect him.

If the man hadn’t been taken, Janaff would have been all over him in an instant.

Right now, though, all he could do was let Gatrie pull him to his feet. Even standing hurt his back, his arm, his neck. The vulnerary hadn’t helped much. The knight frowned and then scooped him up. His wing was jostled. It hurt to let it dangle but it hurt more to keep it upright. His vision was going again and he gripped Shinon’s shoulder. The sniper’s grip on his arrows relaxed and his hand caught the hawk’s. Janaff squeezed as hard as he dared. It helped, some.

As the bishops started shouting and Ike started explaining, Janaff blacked out.

())CRAYOLA))>

Three weeks later Janaff was still out of commission. According to Rhys this sort of injury had heal on its own, and flying still hurt even after being stuck on the ground for nearly a month.

This wasn’t _fair_.

But it wasn’t like he’d been alone. Shinon had kept him company and they’d shared a few laughs and a few drinks on the off chance that the army would be near a tavern. Not that the sniper would ever let anyone _know_ about it. Anyone but Gatrie. The knight was rather laid-back about it. Sure, he’d stake claim to Shinon every few nights, leaving Janaff to find some other way to entertain himself. But the blonde had friends aside from Shinon and he’d take the girls to dinner some nights, or spar with Ike, or get roped into making meals with Mist.

It was damned frustrating.

It wasn’t that Janaff didn’t _like_ the knight. Gatrie was fantastic, if not something of a flirt. He’d _carried_ Janaff all the way back to camp from the church and going there had been an hour’s walk.

But he’d staked his claim to Shinon months ago. When the sniper’s collar fell open Janaff could see the bites. If the redhead changed in the same tent, Janaff could see scratches along Shinon’s back, bruises on his hips. He came out of bed with swollen lips and a love struck look on his face almost every morning.

And now the sniper was leaning on their table, chin propped up with one hand and a mug of ale in the other. His hair was coming untied and loose strands hung around his cheeks. Janaff would have pushed them behind his ears if it wouldn’t have meant a slap. Shinon didn’t let anybody touch his hair. Gatrie was the only one who had earned that privilege and he was only allowed to if the sniper was sure they were alone.

It was jealousy, really. Shinon was annoying and mean and good at provoking anyone within thirty feet but he was a sweetheart when nobody was around. He’d fought back-to-back with Janaff once, the hawk kicking soldiers back and the sniper slaughtering them one by one. Janaff had nearly asked him to dinner right there and then but he’d held back, watched as Gatrie rushed up to join them and watched as Shinon smiled.

He couldn’t bring himself to get between them.

“Oi.”

Shinon’s knuckles rapped him on the forehead. Janaff jumped and the redhead sighed.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said to you. Stupid.”

Janaff huffed but internally he grinned. Two months ago Shinon would have called him a stupid sub-human. “I’ve been thinking.”

“You’re capable? Here I thought your head was filled with rocks.”

“Hot air, actually. It’s what keeps me flying.”

They chuckled at that and drank.

“Heal quickly,” Shinon said after a while. “We need you more and more. If we’re going back to Crimea we need all the help we can get.”

Janaff grinned. “Looking for the help of a laguz, are you? You’re capable, right?”

“I’m used to having you and Gatrie fighting with me. It’s strange with only one of you. We made a good team.”

It hurt to hear it. Maybe if he’d made a move a bit earlier on things would have worked out. Maybe if he’d known what Shinon was like beforehand he’d have taken him for dinner rather than letting Gatrie do it. But back then Shinon had been a pretty face and a _human_ and nothing more. And rude and obnoxious and eighty-five years younger, to boot.

The hawk chuckled. “I’ll do my best, then.”

Shinon was silent for a moment. Then he shot the hawk a look.

“You’re not allowed to tell anyone that I said that. Understood?”

Janaff looked at the ceiling and smiled. “Said what?”

The redhead chuckled. “Good.”

They drank to that, too.


	17. In which there is fluff

“Good morning.”

Naesala dodged as the heron shot bolt upright in bed. He chuckled as Reyson realized he had no shirt on and dodged again as a half-hearted slap was aimed at his head. Then he pounced, pushing the prince to the ground and kissing him. Reyson groaned as the crow king’s fingers trailed up his stomach, over his chest, brushed a nipple. Then Reyson’s arms were wrapped around Naesala, pulling the king ever closer as they kissed. Naesala bit down on the heron’s tongue and Reyson groaned, digging his fingers into the downy feathers at the base of the raven’s wings. His legs hooked around Naesala’s and brought their hips together and Naesala took the opportunity to _grind_ , all heat and friction and goddess-damned fabric in the way.

Damn Reyson and his no-sex rule.

But it was _Reyson_ , and who was he to say no? The prince had been sure to convince Ike that he posed no threat and Naesala had been at the camp as much as he could in between ruling a country and pirating. Kilvas had been left alone, or at least as much as a pirating nation could be. Begnion was still up in his tail feathers about this and that and the other thing but he was paying his debts back and they had no reason to be as flustered as they were. He suspected that Sephiran had something to do with all of this but it wasn’t enough to make him pay attention.

His thoughts were promptly jarred from his head. The heron rolled them over, straddled the crow’s hips. Teeth sank into the juncture of Naesala’s neck and shoulder and he groaned, clawing at ground. A tongue flickered across the bite and nimble fingers slid down his chest. Nails scraped over his nipples.

“Fuck, Reyson.”

“No time.”

The crow’s eyes caught the heron’s. Reyson smiled and kissed him, tongue slipping into his mouth, caressing his own. Naesala kissed him back and wrapped his arms around the prince, smoothed his fingers through the other man’s feathers. He lifted his hips experimentally and Reyson moaned softly, grinding his backside against the king’s cock. Naesala inwardly cursed his pants again.

“When?” he asked.

“Soon,” Reyson replied.

He tried kissing Reyson again but the heron pulled away. “You’ve got to leave. We’re moving out soon. The plan is to cross Riven Bridge, and I’m sure it’s going to be guarded. Daein would do anything to have your head and I would prefer if you remained alive.”

Naesala chuckled and sat up. “I love you,” he murmured. “I’ll come back for you tonight, then.”

“If you’re only coming to fuck, then don’t bother. I won’t do it with you unless you’re serious about this. Us.” Reyson tied his hair back. “And I never said tonight, either. I said soon.”

“And that’s soon enough for me. I’ll wait for as long as you like.”

“Thank you.” Reyson leaned in and stole one last kiss. “I’ll see you tonight, then. Try not to get caught by the enemy. And you really _should_ be heading home at some point, dear. Kilvas can only go so long without its king.”

“Did you just call me ‘dear’?”

“Yes.” Reyson smiled. “Promise me you’ll head home once we’re in Crimea.”

“Only if you promise me that you won’t bother me about it.”

“Of course.”

Naesala smiled and leaned in for another kiss but Reyson was pushing him out of their tent, laughing the entire way. The king intentionally let his feathers brush against the prince’s cheek as he took off.

It took him another ten minutes to realize he’d left his shirt behind.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Form up.”

Ranulf sighed; the sage was bossy even when he was sick. He’d heard the dark-haired man vomiting that morning, a worried Ike comforting him as he emptied the contents of his stomach. Something about him smelled...funny. Not _bad_ , per se. Different. He was Parentless. Ranulf had known that from the day they’d met; he stank of a combination of beorc and laguz and the magics he used. But now there was something else. Almost like the months after Caineghis’ nephew had been conceived.

But that was ridiculous.

He settled into formation beside his tentmate Janaff, a blonde hawk laguz with a tendency for talking in his sleep and shedding feathers every morning. It was partially endearing and partially a pain in the rear. On one hand, Ranulf had woken up that morning to feathers scattered across his chest and a flushing Janaff explaining that it was springtime and what was _he_ supposed to do about it? But the cleanup had been a pain in the rear with loose feathers falling every few seconds. Finally the hawk had given his wings a good shake and let fly, surrounding them in a whirlwind of feathers that could have been described as both hilarious and romantic.

And it wasn’t like Janaff wasn’t good-looking. The blonde was gorgeous even through the scar that marred his right cheek. If Ranulf had been the type, he’d have kissed the other man just to see if his mouth was really as kissable as it looked, to see if the hawk fit against him as well as he’d imagined. Their muscle structure was similar; that meant that in their more vulnerable state they fought the same way, kicking and dodging rather than relying on sheer force. The hawk could fight him if he really wanted to. And then there was the softer side of the hawk. Janaff drooled in his sleep and through the sleep-talking Ranulf had been able to determine that the younger man loved cakes and had once aspired to be a candy bar when he grew up. One hundred and nine or not, the blonde was adorable.

“Good luck,” Janaff called out to him.

Ranulf chuckled and held out a fist. Janaff’s met it and the hawk grinned.

“Don’t you get shot down by any ballistae, either,” Ranulf replied. “You’ve only just recovered.”

“I am _invincible_ ,” Janaff replied. “It was only a flesh wound.”

“Your wing looked ready to fall off.”

“Flesh wound,” the hawk replied. “Get ready; Ike’s about to move out.”

“Watch my back until I’ve gotten my strength up.”

“Only if you watch mine when I need it.”

Ranulf grinned and caught the hawk’s wrist. Pulled him in and turned him around and ran his palms down the hawk’s back.

“Your back looks fine to me.”

They both laughed at that. Around them, people were readying weapons and checking medicines. Oscar was leaning over in his saddle and kissing Kieran. Tormod caught Sothe’s hand and squeezed. Zihark let out a squeak as Volke pinched his rear and Janaff chuckled at the look on the swordmaster’s face. Nearby, Boyd was eyeing Mist contemplatively. Finally he reached up and gave her a light punch on the arm. Reyson looked the other way when Ike kissed Soren and nearby Ranulf was aware that Shinon and Gatrie were snogging. Janaff was pointedly not looking in their direction.

Ranulf caught his arm and smiled. “Oi. Don’t shut yourself off to the rest of the world just because one measly crush didn’t work out. Are you a century old or aren’t you?”

Janaff didn’t say anything for a moment. “We’re friends.”

“Friends don’t look like that when one of them is kissing someone else.” The cat looked away. “Take a look at what’s in front of you. You might like what you see.”

Janaff flushed. “I shed feathers all over you this morning. That’s hardly likeable.”

“It’s endearing.” Ranulf shrugged and stretched. “Come on, then. Off we go.”

He didn’t bother to see if Janaff had followed.

())CRAYOLA))>

Considering that summer was around the bend, Soren was _freezing_.

It wasn’t _fair_. He knew that he was being childish, that being fair had nothing to do with how hot or cold he was and that life wasn’t fair anyways. But he was in Ike’s tent, wrapped in his winter robes and Ike’s old cape and both their blankets and still shivering.

It was this damned illness, that was what. He’d spent the whole morning emptying the contents of his stomach and it had only ceased when he had managed to force down some of the tea Rhys had given him. And now he had a fever as well, sending chills through his body and sweat pooling at the nape of his neck. Instinct told him to bury himself in warmth until he smothered; logic told him to fling off the coverings lest his fever rise too high.

Instinct won out.

That was how Ike found him an hour later. He’d had things to sort through after the bridge had been taken and Soren hadn’t even remotely wanted anything to do with the nobles that had shown up to save the day despite Elincia’s protests that he remain. He’d made up an excuse and tried to see it through but inventory only worked for so long and finally he had found himself collapsed against the far side of the merchants’ caravan, temperature high and breathing heavy. The chills had started afterwards so he’d downed a half-dose of vulnerary and dragged himself to bed. Ike would have murdered him if he’d stayed up and things were still touchy now and again. They were back to sleeping next to each other, Ike’s arms around him and kisses being pressed to his lips, cheeks, forehead. Ike had slid his shirt off for the past several nights and Soren had found himself doing the same thing, savouring the feeling of bare skin against his own. Ike’s heart beating in his ear every night as he drifted off.

He jerked out of his thoughts when Ike curled around him.

“You’re going to overheat like that,” the commander murmured.

“I’m cold.”

Ike chuckled and Soren felt Ike lean over him. Lips met his cheek and he felt himself smiling. He turned and Ike kissed his lips.

“You’re wrapped in as many layers as there are days. You’ll pass out at this rate.” 

“I’m sweating it out.”

Ike smirked and swiped his tongue along Soren’s bottom lip. “If you want to sweat it out I’d be more than happy to help.”

“I thought that you were still angry with me.”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t know when, exactly. But last night…” He slid a blanket off of Soren and kissed the sage’s brand. “You were in my arms and sound asleep. Just like things used to be. Before all the shit that happened in Begnion. I could hear you breathing and feel your heart beating and suddenly I just knew that I wasn’t upset anymore.” Another blanket came off, and then his cape. Soren bit his lip as he shook from the cold. Then Ike’s fingers were undoing his robes and his fevered skin was exposed. Gently, Ike trailed a line of kisses across the sage’s shoulder. Then he paused and pulled away. “...may I?”

Soren smiled. “Please.”

Ike smiled and kissed him again. Slowly, he undressed both of them. The only thing keeping Soren from shaking was the distraction of Ike revealing more and more skin as the seconds ticked by. Then Ike was kissing him again and peeling the final layers off and they were naked, pressed against each other like this for the first time in months.

“You’re sicker than I thought,” Ike admitted. “Sweating it out would probably kill you.”

Soren shook his head. “I’m alright.”

“Soren—”

The sage leaned up and kissed him. “I’ll tell you if I need you to stop.” Then he pulled Ike down. “Please, Ike.”

That did it. Ike kissed him, gentle and slow and deep. Soren was already aroused at this point but Ike made no move to help, instead kissing him, tracing his chest and stomach and never quite letting his fingers slide down far enough. It was torture but it was what Soren had wanted and what Ike loved.

Moments later Ike’s mouth was trailing downward, over his chest. The commander’s lips closed around one of Soren’s nipples and a single finger slid down Soren’s length. He bit back a groan and Ike took it as his cue to grip Soren’s cock and bite down gently. The sage gasped and dug his nails into Ike’s shoulder. Then Ike was moving down again, tongue working over his stomach and lower until finally his mouth closed around Soren’s cock.

It had been worth two months of waiting. Completely worth it to have this back, to have _Ike_ back. Having the intimacy return had been the hardest thing because they both knew in the backs of their minds what Soren had done. But Ike had kept on kissing him for the past months, and slowly things had returned to how they should have been.

This was the final piece.

He wasn’t going to last long. Soren knew that almost the instant that Ike had begun sucking him off, because it had been too long and because it was _Ike_ , and Ike simply _knew_ how to do these things. But as he gripped Ike’s hair and felt himself drawing too close to the edge Ike stopped abruptly, pulling away and smirking. Soren gave him a dirty look.

“It’s too late to change your mind now,” he panted. “Finish what you’ve started.”

“I want to do something different,” Ike replied. “If you’re willing.”

“Something like _what_?”

“Fuck me.” Ike reached down and gripped Soren’s still-slick erection. “You’ve never taken me before.”

Soren smirked. “I thought you said that sweating it out would kill me.”

“I can ride you, I’m sure.” Ike grinned. “Do you want to?”

“Absolutely.” Soren could feel himself flushing but he grinned nonetheless. He pressed two fingers against Ike’s lips. “Suck.”

Ike obeyed. Ashera, he was damned _good_ with his tongue no matter what he was doing, and this was no exception. Soren bit his lip and pulled his fingers away. Ike was kneeling above him but his legs were spread enough and Soren slid in one finger carefully. Ike kissed his brow and Soren slid in a second. This time Ike flinched but Soren smiled at him and moved gently. Ike bit his lower lip and a low moan escaped his throat as Soren rocked his fingers inside him. Then he sucked in a ragged gasp of air and Soren smirked. He’d found it. Whatever it was that sent jolts of pleasure through every last nerve, Soren had found it. He rocked his fingers and Ike cursed.

“If I’d—ah!—known it was this— _Sorennn—_ good, I’d— _Soren!_ —have tried it—mm!—sooner.”

“It’ll get better.” Soren removed his fingers. “Go slowly. It’s not the best lubrication so it won’t necessarily be painless.”

“And…” Ike flushed just slightly. “How do I move to make… _that_ happen again?”

“Sort it out yourself,” Soren replied. The commander nodded and slid a hand over Soren’s cock, spreading precum and saliva as best he could. Then he slid downward, biting his lip as Soren penetrated him. His free hand pressed into Soren’s chest and the sage caught it, nails digging into the other man’s wrist. It shouldn’t have felt _this_ good but Ike was all tight heat and gasps and a quivering mess. And _he_ was causing this. That made it all the better.

It wasn’t smooth. The first time Soren had been taken hadn’t been either. Ike slowed and then slid downward and then slowed again, taking him in inch by inch until finally he was completely sheathed inside the other man. He didn’t move for a moment, just regained his senses. Finally his blue eyes cracked open and met Soren’s and he _moved_. They groaned at the same time and Soren reached down, gripping Ike’s cock. The commander gasped and cursed again as Soren stroked him in time with his thrusts. It wasn’t flawless motion; that sort of thing didn’t happen in real life. But it was close. And Ike was coming closer and closer to the edge with every stroke and every thrust until finally he came, moaning the sage’s name and spurting his seed over Soren’s hand and stomach. His walls tightened around Soren and the sage groaned. A few more thrusts did it and he came as well, spilling into Ike. Their motion didn’t stop until well after Soren was complete. Ike chuckled.

“We are doing this… _far_ more often,” he panted, collapsing against the sage. “I missed you.”

Soren smiled. “I’ve always been right here.”

Ike shook his head. He was ready to fall asleep but then, so was Soren. He tugged a blanket over them and burrowed into the sage’s neck. “I missed this. Being this close, having your skin against mine. Having that trust.”

“So this was about trust, then?” Soren would have cocked an eyebrow if he’d had the energy.

He felt Ike nod. “Mm. I love you and I trust you. I’ve been fighting beside you and I’ve put my life in your hands countless times but that didn’t seem like enough.” Then he shrugged. “And you trusted me all those months ago. I figured that this would have been a good way to show you that I trust you completely.”

“Two years ago,” Soren corrected. “To the day.”

Ike’s lips curved into a smile. “Happy anniversary,” he whispered. “Giving myself to you…was the least I could do.”

Soren felt his cheeks heat. “I…thank you.”

Ike nuzzled the sage’s neck and squeezed him. “I love you,” he breathed. “I will always love you.”

Should he say it? There were countless implications of saying the same thing back. Suggestions of a lifetime together. Suggestions of the impossible. There would be fights and shouting and they were _mercenaries_. They could die at any given moment if not careful, and careful was not the first word he would have used to describe Ike.

But it was Ike. And who else did he have, if not Ike?

Soren smiled and shifted just enough to kiss Ike’s brow. “Forever,” he breathed.

“Forever,” Ike replied. “I like the sound of that.”

His fingers stroked up the back of Soren’s left hand. The sage pretended not to notice Ike paying attention to his ring finger.


	18. In which Soren is Branded

It was good to be back in a bed.

Not that he didn’t love his wyvern. The beast made for good wind protection and was warm, at the very least, so nights hadn’t been at all bad. And the ground was beginning to warm up, too. That certainly helped.

But sleeping with his cheek pressed against scales and with a wing draped over him was nothing in comparison to a bed.

His roommate didn’t seem nearly as comfortable.

Haar smirked into his pillow. Geoffrey was mashing his pillow into a mess, fighting with his blankets, and letting out groans of frustration. Finally he flopped down, defeated. Haar chuckled.

“Relax for more than three seconds at a time and you might find a comfortable position,” he advised.

Geoffrey gave him a dirty look. “This coming from the resident narcoleptic. I happen to be used to a bigger bed than this.”

Haar sighed. “You noblemen and your big beds. How long has it been since you last slept in a tent? On the ground with no blankets and only your horse to keep you warm? Months?”

The paladin gave him a dirty look. “I’ve slept on the ground for years, _Captain_. When was the last time you bathed?”

“Probably sometime around the time when you lost your sense of humour.” Haar smiled and sat up, shivering as the cool air nipped at his bare shoulders. “Go on, shove your bed over and take up as much room as you like. I can sleep on the floor.”

When the paladin made no move, Haar got out of bed and did it himself. The bed screeched against the floor and Geoffrey flinched. Then Haar smiled and shrugged his shirt back on. The blanket came with him and he curled onto the cool stone floor. It was disappointing, really, but what else was he to do?

())CRAYOLA))>

Haar woke up with a jolt when Geoffrey fell out of bed. Mostly because he was promptly being squashed by about two hundred pounds of flailing limbs and tense muscle. The paladin’s elbow was digging into his stomach and their legs were entangled and they’d smacked heads when Geoffrey had fallen. The blanket fell next with a soft ‘fwump’, burying them.

Haar started laughing. He couldn’t help it, really. Geoffrey was giving him a confused look and Haar was aware that the paladin had been in hiding too long to be used to waking up abruptly in the mornings and sleeping without moving much. For a moment, Geoffrey just stared at him, and then he began chuckling.

“I’m used to a bigger bed,” he started explaining, but Haar covered his mouth with one hand and sat up.

“Get back in bed. It’s not even dawn yet.”

The paladin looked out the window. “It will be in half a mark. Get an early start; if we were ambushed once we’ll be ambushed again. Do whatever it is you do in the morning to train.”

“I sleep in,” Haar replied. “If you’re going to get up, then give me the blankets back. I am getting as much sleep as is possible before we move out again.”

Geoffrey gave him a look. “You…you _sleep_ in the morning so that you’ll be more prepared for battle?”

“It’s never failed me,” Haar yawned. “Give me the blankets. It’s cold enough without a wyvern next to me.”

“You _sleep_.”

The wyvern lord let out a groan. “Yes, I sleep! I’ve conditioned my body to wake instantly the moment that something goes awry; that’s the reason I can’t sleep in a tent when we’ve made camp! Because everyone causes too much trouble! That way I’m rested enough for when I need to fight!” He scowled. “Have you got your head wrapped around it yet or do I need to explain to you what sleep is, too?”

The paladin glared at him. “It’s idiotic, that’s what it is. You don’t build muscle and get a reasonable skill set by sleeping.”

“And you don’t get rest by waking up before dawn to train every day.”

Geoffrey threw the blanket at Haar and stood. “Well, you’ll have to excuse the idiot who will be doing sit-ups on the floor. But you’ll be unconscious, won’t you? I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Ten minutes later, Haar was still awake. Not by choice. Not entirely, anyways. He would have liked to go back to sleep. And the bed was comfortable and his pillow was soft and it was so _warm_. But Geoffrey was on the floor next to him, doing one-handed push ups. With no _shirt_ on. Sweat dripping from his brow and beading down his back, his breathing heavy, his cheeks flushed, his left arm not once wavering as he passed the one hundred mark.

Life wasn’t _fair_.

That was the sort of thing Haar would have liked to see above him at night. Or in the morning, or anytime, really. Chiselled features dripping with sweat, heavy breathing in his ear, the general pounding into him. The last one on that list was optional; you could achieve sweat and heavy breathing through a reasonable amount of heated kissing and wandering hands. Either way. It would be _Geoffrey_ in that state and Haar would be the one causing it or, at the very least, encouraging it.

Geoffrey looked up and his eyes met Haar’s. The paladin turned a deeper shade of red.

“I thought you said that you would be sleeping.”

“The view was too good.”

Geoffrey looked away and Haar chuckled. “Now is not the time for jokes,” the paladin said through gritted teeth. “And I already have someone.”

“The princess?” Haar made a face. “If she belongs to you, then where have you been all this time? If you truly love her, why didn’t you go after her? I can’t help but think that you don’t really want her for anything but a lay.”

“And that is the implication I get when you say such things to me.”

“All I said was that the view was nice. Now you’re putting words in my mouth.”

“I’ll put my fist in your mouth if you’re not careful.”

“Furthermore,” Haar said, knowing that he had already crossed the line, “if rumours are to be true then you and that redheaded paladin had a fling a year back.”

Geoffrey had a look of death on his face now. “I will deny such accusations until someone can prove them true.”

“Really? Because Kieran has quite a bit to say about it.” He was mostly bullshitting now, trying to remember campfire stories from when they’d been drinking a bit too much several nights ago and hoping that had was getting them straight, but it was worth it to see the paladin so riled up. “Apparently you were celebrating Yule and had too much to drink. And then one thing led to another and you woke up next to each other.”

Geoffrey slammed his hand into the mattress next to Haar’s head. It wasn’t nearly as menacing as he’d been going for, but the look on his face was more than enough to compensate. “I will not have you spreading such slander about either myself or my friends. What we did that night is our own business and I will not allow someone who abandons his countrymen to say such things.”

“Abandoned?” Haar chuckled. “Now you’re just getting things backwards. I left Daein because I had no place there. They killed my commander and would have killed his daughter too, if given the chance. The only reason they didn’t was because of the phenomenal warrior she’s turned into. Her father would have been just as proud as I am and I am determined to protect her as he would have. For that, I would follow her to the ends of earth, do you hear me?”

“Sounds more like love than anything.”

Haar snorted. “I’ll tell you right now that even if I _were_ interested in Jill, I would have no chance. She’s become rather close with that warrior from Gallia. Lethe. Give it a few more months and Jill will have worked up the guts to tell her.”

Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “So she’s—”

“Yes. And so am I and the single group of people in all of Daein who didn’t give a shit were General Shiharam and his platoon. Everyone else would have exiled us but he simply didn’t care. He looked for personality and strength and if you were queer he’d pat you on the back and crack a joke about how at least you wouldn’t go after his daughter.” Haar smiled softly. “He was a good man. On par with General Ike, certainly.”

“General Ike is banging his staff officer.”

It was Haar’s turn to glare. “You can’t see what it is they have? Ike would go out of his way to save Soren and that sage would do the same in a heartbeat. Ike takes him to dinner whenever they’ve got a free night and we’re in a town. Soren makes sure that Ike’s got the best room in an inn, the best place in camp so that he’ll be protected in case of an attack, the best everything. I’ve only been with this company for three days and I can see that much. It’s beyond merely _fucking_ , Geoffrey. What they have is a level of devotion you don’t see in most straight married couples. I wouldn’t be surprised if they found a way to get married.”

“No bishop would—”

“We’ve got one of those, if you’ll recall. And he’d be more than happy to do it for them, I’m sure.” Haar sighed. “Is it really beyond you to believe that someone who’s queer has more than simply shagging? Or is it just that you’re blissfully unaware of any love besides yours for Elincia?”

“What will it take for you to shut up about all of this and let me resume my life in peace?”

“Kiss me.”

“No.”

Haar shrugged. “Was worth a shot.” Then he smirked. “Although you never said that I couldn’t kiss _you_.”

Geoffrey struggled against him. Briefly. He didn’t melt but he didn’t tug away either. Haar was gentle. He didn’t force his tongue down the paladin’s throat and he didn’t cling. His fingers pressed into the back of Geoffrey’s head and he pulled away shortly after. After a brief moment of contemplation he leaned in again. Another gentle press of lips. And then another, and another. Geoffrey was leaning into him a little more each time and finally Haar didn’t pull away, just massaged the other man’s mouth open with his own and let his tongue slip between Geoffrey’s lips.

The paladin jumped and this time he pulled away, his cheeks a shade of red that rivalled Jill’s hair. Haar didn’t say anything. He simply smiled and rolled over, bringing the blankets with him.

For a long time, Geoffrey didn’t move. Then he leaned over when he was sure Haar was asleep. Fingers brushed Haar’s bare shoulder, trailed down his arm to his elbow. He felt Geoffrey lean down and took the opportunity to roll over, eyes still shut. It was a gift he had developed, feigning sleep. A good manoeuvre for spying, a good manoeuvre for getting out of jobs. A good manoeuvre for this.

Geoffrey froze again. Haar didn’t move, kept his breathing steady, ignored the strand of hair that was tickling his cheek and the way his eyepatch was coming off, ready to reveal the gaping socket where his eye had been. The paladin reached forward again, brushing the strand of hair back. A gentle tug came when the general’s fingers brushed it and his eyepatch was gone. There was a soft intake of breath when he saw the empty socket. Then Geoffrey was leaning down, pressing his lips against Haar’s cheekbone, directly underneath the scarred mess.

“You poor thing,” he breathed. “I’m sorry.”

Haar shifted again, just barely. He was pushing it. Any moment now Geoffrey would realize that he was awake and start shouting.

Geoffrey kissed him. Soft, lingering. Once, twice, three times. Haar parted his lips just slightly and Geoffrey let his tongue sweep over Haar’s bottom lip. The wyvern lord couldn’t help responding and kissed him back, just barely. He was still pushing it. Geoffrey’s mouth was firmly on his now, tongue gently pressed against Haar’s. Then he pulled away and chuckled.

“Cheeky bastard,” he murmured. He kissed Haar again and then stood. A moment later there were footsteps and the sound of a door opening and closing again, and then the same footsteps heading down the hall.

Haar smiled. _I’ll have to get him back for that one._

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Soren?”

“Mm?”

“Come here.”

The sage sighed and placed his quill down. He turned in his chair and saw Ike, arms open and a gentle smile on his face. Relief sank into him; Ike wanted a hug and nothing more. Soren let his lips curve into a smile and stood, letting himself be enveloped in warmth and the scent of Ike (steel-sweat-leather-grass-dust-campfire-sex) and sheer _comfort_. Ike’s mouth met his neck, hot and gentle.

The commander’s words dropped ice into the pit of his stomach.

“Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Soren pulled away and forced a smile. “Nothing is bothering me.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Ike breathed. He pressed his forehead against Soren’s. “You’ve been quiet and moody for ages. You always seem troubled, even though we finally made up two nights ago and things are going well for the company. I can’t think of anything that would be bothering you and that’s why I need you to tell me.”

“There is nothing wrong.” Ike was grating on his nerves now.

“I love you too much to let you suffer. Please, _please_ tell me what’s wrong.”

“Curse you, Ike! Leave me alone!” He wrenched himself from Ike’s arms and made a move for the door. Anything to keep this hidden away, locked up so that Ike could never hate him, never leave him.

Ike caught his shoulder and pulled him backward so hard that they nearly fell. The taller man made no move to let go nor did he pull Soren closer. “Soren.”

“Ike, _please_. People hate me for what I am. You are my only friend.” A lump was forming in his throat. “If I lost you…I…I don’t think that I would be able to go on.”

“This is why you need to tell me. You won’t tell anyone else. It’s not healthy to keep whatever this is locked up inside you. It’ll eat away at you until you wither. And I don’t want to see that.” Slowly, Ike drew Soren into his arms. “I want to help you.”

“Ike—”

“Soren, it’s _me_. I’ve already fallen madly in love with you. I’ve promised you forever because I know that I can keep that promise, no matter what life throws at us. I couldn’t possibly, ever, _ever_ leave you, no matter what it is that’s happened.”

“I…Ike, I…” Soren buried his face in Ike’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. “I…I’m Branded. I’m one of the Branded.”

He could tell that Ike’s brow was furrowing. “...Branded? What is that?”

“A cross between a beorc and laguz.” Soren felt himself making a disgusted face and quickly let it smooth out. “Such a taboo union violates every teaching of the Goddess. And of society. We are untouchables. Abominations. Condemned to a life of hatred from both races.”

“Wait. Let me make sure I understand you…you’re…part laguz?” Ike pulled away only slightly. Enough to look Soren in the eye. The sage tried to look away but Ike caught his chin in one hand. He glared.

“Yes. This mark on my forehead is proof. I learned about it while researching the books in Mainal Cathedral. I always thought that it was a birthmark. Others thought that it was the mark of a Spirit Charmer.”

“A Spirit Charmer?”

Soren nodded. “To use magic, we must interact with spirits. Letting a spirit enter your body will give you tremendous power…for a price. Little social interaction. You end up distancing yourself from others, you speak very little. Constant bloodlust.”

“I don’t—”

“Spirits envy the living and so they feel the need to kill. In the heat of battle it becomes enough just having them demand more lives.” Soren bit his lips. “But it gives you so, so much power. That’s why the sage was so interested in me. He thought I’d struck such a deal. Instead I was nothing more than a filthy Branded.”

“I…I see.” Ike was silent for a moment. Then he curled his arms around Soren and breathed in deeply. Wind-fire-lightning-ink-parchment-sweat-tears-blood. Beautiful. He smiled and kissed the crook of Soren’s neck. “So?”

Soren hesitated only slightly. “What do you mean, ‘so’?”

“So you have laguz blood in your veins. So you have a mark to prove it. So…what’s the problem?”

“What’s the _problem_?!” Soren pulled away. Tears spilled over. “Don’t you find me disgusting?! I work beside you, eat beside you! I’ve lived with you for years, fought beside you! You’ve saved my life countless times! You’ve touched me, kissed me, _fucked_ me! I’m _nothing_! I don’t _belong_ anywhere!”

“Soren.” Ike smiled and cupped Soren’s face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “It doesn’t change anything. You are and will always be you. I love you and I will always love you, no matter what happens. I make love to you for no other reason than to show you that.” Ike pulled Soren into his arms. “I can’t go on without you and neither can this company. We need you to help us. _We_ will be nothing without _you_.”

The sage’s breath caught in his throat for a moment. “Ike…I…I thought…”

“What?”

“It was Gallia.” He felt Ike tense and gently squeezed the swordsman. “The sage lived in Gallia. A few beorc families had settled there, and…”

“Gallia. Are you saying that—?”

Soren nodded against Ike’s chest. He breathed in again, savouring the other man’s scent. “When the sage died, nobody would help me. I couldn’t speak common tongue. Couldn’t find food. You and your father were the only ones who helped. That’s why you’re my friend, Ike. My only friend.”

They stood there in silence. Ike guided him to their bed and lay down, pulling a blanket over them. Then he was blowing out their candles and enveloping them in darkness and smoke. He pulled Soren close and gently kissed his forehead. “You know,” he finally murmured, “I like it. Your mark.”

Soren snorted. “There is nothing to like about such a Brand.”

“You wouldn’t be the same without it.” Ike kissed it again. “I have something to tell you.”

“Mm.”

“I overheard Rhys talking to Ulki a few months ago after they fought. I went to go mediate but…they didn’t need it. But I overhead something interesting.” Ike smiled and Soren couldn’t help but think that he was beautiful, illuminated by the scarce amount of moonlight coming through their window.

“Like what?”

Ike dropped another kiss to the Brand. “There is nothing in the sacred texts forbidding a laguz and beorc from having a child. That Begnion altered the original texts to justify the killing of the Branded and the enslavement of the laguz. The only people who think you are untouchable are the idiots who would believe that one person is less than another simply because of a mark on their skin.”

Soren couldn’t help it. He was crying again, wrapped up in Ike's arms and smiling through it all. Whether Ike was bullshitting to make him feel better or not, it had worked. Ike kissed his lips gently. Soren felt his cheeks burn. What right did he have to ask after all of this?

“I-Ike?”

“Yes?”

He bit his lower lip. “Will…I…Ike…”

“Soren.” Ike smiled knowingly but made no move.

“Ike…”

“Soren.”

“Ike!” Soren couldn’t help but smile. “Ike…make love to me.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Right here?”

“Yes.”

Ike leaned down and kissed him. “Are you sure?”

Soren nodded and slid his arms around Ike, fingers trailing underneath the commander’s shirt and across bare skin. “Yes. So long as you are.”

“With you?” He chuckled. “I’m always sure if it’s with you.”

“Even—”

“Even with the brand.”

It was as gentle as their first time had been. Ike was warm and careful, never moving too quickly, never too slow. He was undressing the sage slowly, pressing kisses against every inch of bare skin he revealed. It became maddeningly slow and finally Soren pulled Ike up and kissed him hard. The commander groaned and finished undressing the sage; Soren smirked into the kiss and helped Ike kick his pants off. Then they were pressed together tightly, all heated skin and hot kisses and _Ike_. The swordsman’s hands and mouth were gentle and firm and he had Soren gasping and clawing at his back in no time. He produced oil from what seemed like nowhere without breaking off (Soren would have to learn that trick) and at once his fingers were inside of Soren and his mouth on the sage’s cock.

Soren nearly screamed.

Ike simply hummed and continued, flickering his tongue and crooking his fingers until Soren was ready to burst. Then he pulled away, looking up at Soren through lidded eyes.

“I love you,” he breathed. “I will love you forever, until the sun burns out and the seas swallow Tellius. No matter what your bloodline is, no matter what mark is on your skin. I fell in love with a brilliant man and that’s what’s important to me.”

Soren flushed and Ike moved upward, kissing him gently. His cock nudged Soren’s entrance and the sage gave him a soft smile.

“ _Please_ , Ike.”

Still gentle. Ike slid into him slowly and so, so gently. It was far more delicate than usual. The commander pressed kisses to whatever skin he could reach and when he was fully in he leaned down, kissing him. Gently he pulled Soren’s legs over his elbows, spreading him wider and pushing in deeper. Soren couldn’t help the moan that escaped, couldn’t help clinging to Ike as the blue-haired man started thrusting into him. He was close to the edge already but Ike wouldn’t touch his cock as he normally did; Soren was being forced to get off from mere thrusting. It was complete and utter _torture_.

Still, he was getting there, slowly but steadily. Ike was coming close as well, his breath coming in hot, short bursts against Soren’s face, his fingers clenching onto Soren’s shoulders, every third gasp of air being some variation of how good it was, how tight Soren was, how damned beautiful the sage was.

He had to beg but finally Ike obeyed, sliding still-slick fingers around Soren’s cock and stroking exactly the way Soren liked it. At that point Soren joined in the gasping, giving encouraging whispers of just like that, just a bit more, Ike I’m so _close_ , _pleasepleaseplease_.

Ike leaned down and bit him.

Right on the shoulder, right where Soren had bitten Ike hundreds of times, where at least four sets of scars stood from where Soren had sunk in too deeply and made him bleed. It was a shock, a burst of pain that pulled him away from orgasm abruptly. He was still close but not as much as before; Ike’s teeth were digging in too hard for that. In any other situation it would have been too painful but his sex-hazed mind wouldn’t allow for that, instead dulling it down to discomfort. Ike’s hips slowed only briefly.

“What,” Soren gasped, “was that for?”

Ike pulled away. “Too close,” he murmured. His hand resumed its motion quickly and his thrusts grew ever faster, more desperate. Soren frowned; he couldn’t be. It was too cheesy, too _cliché_.

“Too close to—Ike— _Ike_ …!”

He didn’t manage to get words out. Instead he buried his face in Ike’s shoulder and let a muffled scream break into the air as he came. At the same time Ike’s grip tightened and he groaned out Soren’s name. It couldn’t have been; people simply _didn’t_ come to completion at the same time. It was a plot point for the romance novels Mist read, and a bad one, at that.

Finally Ike collapsed against him, breathing heavily. A sly grin spread across his lips and he pressed a kiss to the side of Soren’s neck. The sage flushed and opened his mouth to speak but Ike caught his lips and kissed him deeply.

“I always wanted to do that,” Ike murmured. “Come with you instead of before or after you.”

Soren flushed. “It’s cliché.”

“I prefer ‘romantic’,” Ike replied. “I love you.” His hand caught Soren’s. He must have thought he was being subtle but Soren was smarter than that. The commander’s thumb stroked over Soren’s ring finger again and again. “I will always love you.”

“And I you.”

It was still too strange but he said it anyways. Forever simply didn’t happen; people died and left each other and husbands beat their wives and children.

 _You can’t have children and Ike would never strike you or leave you_.

But Ike was smiling and pulling Soren close, absently tugging a blanket over them. He kissed the brand one last time and then he was sound asleep. Soren buried himself in Ike’s neck. Steel-leather-grass-dust-campfire-sweat-sex. Sheer comfort.

He slept straight through the night.


	19. In which there are declarations of love

Stefan woke up with arms around him. And warmth, loads of that. Lips pressed to the back of his neck, a nose buried in his hair. His clothing was askew, revealing bare skin that Mordecai seemed more than happy to press his hands to. Not that Stefan minded, of course. The tiger was more fascinating than Soren had been. Stefan had outright insulted him and still he came back. And Mordecai was a sweetheart. Saving Stefan a spot at meals and fighting next to him and carrying him when he’d broken his ankle falling into a hole and being so obviously smitten that Stefan hadn’t been able to help pulling the taller man down and kissing him after they’d taken Riven Bridge.

And Mordecai had certainly taken _that_ well. In an instant Stefan had found himself wrapped in arms and kisses and a soft purring growl that a flushing Mordecai had later told him meant deep affection. _Deep_ affection, apparently, because as soon as they’d gotten back to camp and had Stefan’s ankle set in a splint Mordecai had carried him to a secluded grove of trees and they’d spent a solid hour kissing. Heatedly. Very heatedly, all tongues and teeth and groans of pleasure. A week later they were demanding to share a tent and in that lovey-dovey stage of a relationship where they did everything together.

And the best part of it all was that Mordecai didn’t seem to care about Stefan’s bloodline. He’d been skittish around Stefan at first but Stefan had learned a long time ago that that was simply the way people were and that it was best to jump in headfirst and hope that nothing bad happened. And Mordecai hadn’t _ignored_ him, like so many other laguz were wont to doing. Lethe stayed as far away as she could; she could smell the Brand on him and knew exactly what it meant.

But Mordecai had taken the first opportunity he could to take his time, really try to understand what the scent was. It had been a bit like now, curled up in their tent. Mordecai had kissed him and pulled his clothing open and let his lips trail down the other man’s neck and chest. After a moment he’d stopped, inhaling deeply. Stefan had bitten his bottom lip, waiting for the rejection.

Mordecai had smiled and squeezed him, pressing warm, sucking kisses to Stefan’s throat. The swordsman hadn’t been able to help the moan that had broken his lips. Mordecai had hummed softly and sat up and brushed Stefan’s hair aside, examining the mark. After a moment he’d kissed that, too.

Stefan smiled and rolled over. Mordecai was awake and he brushed his hair out of the way and kissed the Brand. Stefan tilted his head upward and kissed the tiger on the lips.

“Good morning,” he murmured. Mordecai smiled and squeezed him.

“Good morning.” The tiger nuzzled into the swordmaster’s green hair. “Did you sleep well?”

“As well as I ever have.” Stefan smiled. “You bring me comfort.”

“Mm.” Mordecai let out that same purr and Stefan burrowed into the larger man’s arms. Nobody had come around knocking on doors yet and the breakfast call hadn’t come. It was at least a mark past dawn; Soren at the very least should have been awake and pounding on doors by now.

Not that Stefan was complaining.

After a moment of contemplation he slid his fingers beneath the hem of Mordecai’s shirt. The laguz smiled and let the garment slide upward, over his stomach and chest and shoulders until finally it was off and Stefan was letting it drop to the floor. Mordecai slid Stefan’s shirt open and then they were pressed together. Touching was something that Stefan didn’t experience with anyone, ever, thank-you-very-much. Not that he hadn’t _wanted_ it. He was an abomination, that was all, and people refused to come near him once they realized.

Except for Mordecai, who had been prepared to reject the Goddess completely if it had meant they couldn’t be friends. And _this_ was a flat-out sin, if the church was to be believed. An untouchable in bed with a laguz, both of them men and both of them half-naked and pressed together and kissing.

It was _glorious_.

“Mordecai?”

He hated to break a moment like this, but the anxiety came as it always did, gnawing at the pit of his stomach like hungry vermin. The blue-haired man looked down at him, still wearing that smile. He caught the look on Stefan’s face and knew what question was coming.

“I do not mind,” he murmured. “If doing this makes us sinners…then so be it.”

“Are you—?”

Mordecai kissed him firmly. “Yes. I am sure.”

Such a sweetheart. A gentle, huge sweetheart. The words slipped out before he had time to stop them. “I love you.”

Mordecai tensed and Stefan cursed internally. What sort of thing was that to say, after a mere week of intimacy? They’d hardly done anything physical yet, either; this was the farthest they’d gone so far. Yes, they’d gone to dinner and spent hours talking and shared a tent now and again but that had been before, when Stefan had demonstrated self-control. And how exactly was he supposed to define ‘love’ anyways? He’d never experienced it, never had someone say it to him and never been able to honestly say it to anyone else. From what he’d heard it was just something that happened, something that you just _knew_ , but it couldn’t have been that simple. Nothing ever was.

He was jerked out of his thoughts when Mordecai said the same thing back. He was completely baffled.

“But…how do you know?”

The tiger gave a shrug of his shoulders. “I do not know, exactly. I know that I enjoy battling alongside you and eating with you and taking care of you. You are rude at times and inconsiderate of other people but I do not care. You know how to laugh and smile as well. It is…” Mordecai frowned and searched for the right word, “…charming.”

Stefan flushed at that and cursed; he wasn’t supposed to _do_ that.

Mordecai continued. “And I know that you are kind and gentle even though you frighten me with the way you fight sometimes. And I want to be with you and protect you. And hold you, and kiss you.” He smiled. “If this is not love, then what is it?”

“I…” Stefan couldn’t think of a good answer for that one. “I don’t know. I don’t know love. I don’t know…anything even remotely resembling it. I don’t know why I said it.”

“Then you do not love me?” The tiger’s brow furrowed. Stefan’s brow furrowed.

“If…if what you said just now is what love is, then yes. I do.” He smiled. “At the very least, I am insanely attracted to you.” He reached up and threaded his fingers through Mordecai’s hair. “Kiss me?”

“Yes.”

In the end, there was no wake-up call.

They spend the whole morning in a tangle of limbs and hot kisses.

())CRAYOLA))>

“Zihark.”

The newly-promoted swordmaster looked up from where he was cleaning his blade. He smiled when he saw Volke locking the door. The assassin sat down on the bed next to him and tugged his mask off. Zihark held in laughter; Volke hadn’t shaved recently and the stubble was beginning to lean toward ridiculous. The brunet caught the expression on his face, put two and two together, and then smirked.

“Well, it’s _your_ fault,” he purred. It was taking a decent amount of restraint not to touch Zihark until the other man was finished with his blade, but it would be worth it in the end.

A slender eyebrow was raised. “Oh?”

“Well, if you hadn’t started kissing me—”

Zihark flailed and covered the other man’s mouth, blushing furiously. After a moment he sheathed his sword and made a point of not looking at Volke. The assassin chuckled and hugged him, burying his face in the swordsman’s neck. It was uncharacteristic of him. Too gentle, too tender. Those from the assassin’s guild would have laughed and told him he’d gone soft; the Volke that _they_ knew wouldn’t hold a relationship for long and would be in it for shagging more than anything else.

“Congratulations,” he murmured after a moment. “On your promotion.”

Zihark was smiling. “Thank you.” He paused for a moment and then his hands were overtop of Volke’s, squeezing gently. “I…I appreciate you training with me.”

“You better.” Volke chuckled and lay down, pulling the swordmaster with him. “After you nearly took my head off I was seriously considering not coming back.”

“And what made you change your mind?”

Volke pressed a kiss to Zihark’s hair. “The knowledge that sparring gives me a little extra time with you every day.”

“You’re being sappy again. I’m not a lady.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be romantic.”

Zihark chuckled. “There is romantic, and then there’s what you’re doing.”

“Do you want to go to dinner?”

A pause. “Like…like dinner with everyone?”

“Like just us.”

Zihark looked away. “I don’t…Volke, that’s a _date_.”

“So?” The brunet shrugged. “We’ve been sharing a tent or room for the past three months.” He smiled and nuzzled against the light-haired man’s neck. “I’ve been more than affectionate and you certainly haven’t been complaining.” Zihark chuckled at that and Volke sat up and leaned over to look the swordsman in the eye. He gave Zihark a sly grin. “And this morning I heard you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” He grinned. “I think you do.” Volke reached down and let his fingers brush against the other man’s belt. “Not that you would ever admit it, of course. You still don’t know what to make of us. But when you sneak off and start jerking off, that’s something. When you’re finishing and my name is the first on your lips when you cum, that’s another.”

Zihark was blushing furiously and tried to pull away. “You shouldn’t be spying on other people.”

“I wasn’t spying, per se.” Volke repositioned himself so he was straddling Zihark’s hips and had his arms pinned to his sides. He leaned down and licked a slow line up the other man’s throat. “I just happened to be passing by. Stop fighting; you haven’t had any problems doing this before.”

“That was before I discovered that you watch me in my private moments.”

“Just the once.” Volke kissed him soundly on the lips. “And I’ll be the first to tell you that your name is the only one I have ever called.”

If Zihark blushed any harder his head would probably burst into flame.

Volke chuckled. “Come now, don’t give me that look.”

“ _You watched me jerk off_ ,” Zihark spat through clenched teeth. “How do you not see that this is a problem?”

“Because I don’t give a shit and neither should you. So you did something that everyone does. So what? So you came trying not to say my name too loudly. I don’t care because I did the same thing two mornings ago. And all of this is a great big way to say that if I can share your bed and kiss you for hours on end and get your shirt off without any complaints, and then the next morning realize that you want me as badly as I want you, then why can’t I take you for dinner?”

Zihark stared at him. Then a grin broke onto his face and he began laughing. His arms wiggled out from where they had been pinned by Volke’s knees and he cupped the assassin’s face gently.

“Yes, Volke. I would love to go to dinner.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

The morning wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the evening had been.

Soren had woken up and immediately thrown himself out of bed without bothering to get dressed. Ike hardly had time to wake up, much less process that Soren was sick to his stomach. All he heard as he got out of bed were the telltale sounds of Soren vomiting out the window (Ike prayed that there was nobody outside to play witness) and the subsequent string of curses. Or at least he assumed they were curses; whenever Soren was angry he would switch back and forth between Ancient and Common tongue so rapidly that it was impossible to keep up.

Gently Ike tugged the sage into his arms. Soren didn’t fight. He collapsed into Ike’s bare chest, face pale and sweat beading on his forehead. Ike scooped him up easily and kissed his brand.

“ _I fucking hate this_ ,” the sage groaned. After a moment’s pause he reverted to Common. “I fucking hate this. A week straight now.”

“Maybe you’re pregnant,” Ike joked. “We _have_ done it a lot these past few days, and it would explain why you just cursed in Common.”

Soren opened his eyes just long enough to give Ike a bemused look. “Because clearly I am a woman.”

“I think we should name it Frederic. Or Bojangles. Or maybe Hector.”

“Ike…”

The commander chuckled and carefully lay Soren down on their bed. His lips brushed the sage’s temple. “It’s alright. I’ll keep our impossible and nonexistent child a secret. Would you like mint in your tea?”

“Please.”

He slid on his pants and was gone for perhaps three minutes. When he came back Soren was leaning out the window again. Ike placed the steaming cup on the bedside table and pulled Soren close, the sage’s back pressed against his chest. He rested his chin on the top of Soren’s head and smiled.

“Sick or not,” he murmured, “it’s a beautiful sunrise. It doesn’t quite match up to you, though.”

“I’ve been vomiting.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Ike squeezed him carefully. “You’re still gorgeous. Especially when you’re this far away from being dressed.”

“Your fault,” Soren murmured. Then he sighed and Ike could tell from the tone that he was smiling. “I love you.”

“Are you cursing me? Because that’s just—”

Soren turned and smiled at him. Even ghostly pale as he was, even with dark circles under his eyes and his hair dishevelled he was beautiful. “No,” he murmured. “I love you. In every language imaginable, in every way possible. Especially after…last night.”

Ike smiled. “So that was Ancient for ‘I love you’?”

“As close a translation as I can give.”

“And how do I ask you to drink your tea and come back to bed with me?”

“ _Drink your tea and come_ ,” a pause for a fraction of a second as Soren translated, “ _back to bed with me_.”

Ike was sure that he had a dumbfounded look on his face because Soren burst out laughing. The sage patted his shoulder gently and made his way toward their bed.

“It takes years of studying,” he chuckled. “I won’t teach you; you’re too boneheaded. Ask Reyson. He would at least pull some entertainment from it.” He took a sip of his tea and let out a soft sigh of pleasure. “You make wonderful tea.”

“It’s the one thing I can manage,” Ike murmured. He kicked his pants off and lay next to Soren, fingers gently trailing across whatever skin he could reach. “We’re staying here today. Everyone deserves a day off after taking Riven Bride and this castle in three days’ time.”

“Ike—”

“Quiet. I’m in charge and if I say we’ve got the day off we’ve got the day off.”

Soren gave him a pointed look. Then he smiled. “If you’re going to take the day off then at least put a note on the door telling everyone.”

“You get a raise for thinking on your toes.” Ike smiled and sat up to kiss the sage. “I love you.”

This time Soren initiated it, plausibility be damned.

“You missed a word,” he murmured into his tea. Ike gave him a confused look.

“What did—”

Soren smiled.

“You missed ‘forever’.”


	20. In which people discuss many things

Admittedly, seeing Tibarn again had potential to be awkward.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t looking forward to it. He’d sent the letter a week ago personally asking for Tibarn to come help them. And when Ulki had told him that the sound of Tibarn’s wings was perhaps half a day away Reyson hadn’t been able to help the nervous flutter in his stomach. But who could blame him? It was _Tibarn_. A mass of chiselled muscle and good looks and strength and a thousand other things that Reyson had aspired to over the course of his life.

And they’d spent twenty years living together. Twenty years was a long time. A ten-year crush was also big, and on Reyson’s fiftieth they’d been up half the night drinking champagne and eating those cakes that Tibarn had had specially made so they wouldn’t upset Reyson’s stomach. And then Reyson had heard that soft whisper of his name coming from Tibarn’s heart. All the confession that he had needed to work up the courage to lean in and kiss the king.

The night had been amazing. Wrapped in strong arms and wings and warm kisses. No sex; that would have been too much too quickly. Besides, they had all the time in the world.

Or so they’d thought.

After he’d been kidnapped, Tibarn had gone on a tangent about how it was _stressful_ , being in a romantic relationship with a fully-grown man who could so easily be kidnapped. There had been arguments before that one and the incident with Duke Tanas had been the final straw and they had split, Tibarn taking Leanne back to Phoenicis and Reyson insisting on staying with Ike. Finally Tibarn had written to him, asking for forgiveness and wondering if they could put the incident behind them and go back to how things had been before, but it had been a case of ‘I’m-sorry-but-I’m-already-taken’ and that had been the end of that.

“Reyson.”

He jumped. How had Tibarn landed so close with so little warning? Still, Reyson smiled as Tibarn clapped a hand onto his shoulder. Things had potential to be awkward but somehow they weren’t. It was still Tibarn and the king was still smiling as he always did, touching him as he always had. A hand on the shoulder or a wingtip against his own or _something_ ; that much had stayed the same since Reyson had been young.

“Tibarn!” They embraced briefly. “Are you well?”

“I just slaughtered a battalion of Daein soldiers! How do you think I am?”

They all had a good laugh at that. Reyson briefly noted that Tibarn’s wing was against his as Ike began the questions.

“Why are you here?” Ike asked.

“I’m joining you. Reyson wrote and asked for my assistance. Although, I admit, that is not the only reason I am here.”

Ike turned and raised an eyebrow at Reyson. The heron shrugged. “The more strength and numbers we have, the higher likelihood of us emerging victorious, yes? If you don’t mind, of course.”

Ike smiled. “Of course not. You made a good choice. I appreciate it, at any rate. And the other reason you’re here?”

“In a moment. First, let us meet with the king of lions. He waits for us at the bottom of the mountain.”

Ike nodded. “Understood. Haar, send word to everyone that we’re setting up camp at the bottom.”

The wyvern lord nodded. “Sir.”

As they moved toward the bottom, Tibarn stopped Reyson. At Ike’s concerned look, he waved the commander forward. “Private words between friends,” he explained. Ike shrugged, slung an arm around a protesting Soren, and continued onwards. The nervous flutter came back.

“I missed you,” Tibarn murmured, one hand finding its way to the back of Reyson’s neck. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Reyson replied. “I’m just as well as I was when you left me.”

“Well, not entirely. Look at you. You’re far stronger.”

“It’s inevitable, isn’t it? Becoming stronger emotionally?”

Tibarn shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.” He prodded Reyson’s stomach. “Look at you. You’ve got a tan, your hair is all tied back. _Muscle_. Hard muscle. You’ve been training. I didn’t think you could do that.”

“I can’t fight. But I am more than capable of dodging. The young archer—Rolf—he’s been helping.”

“He’s been firing arrows at you?” Tibarn’s eyes darkened. “I’ll be having a word with him.”

“We’ve been wrapping the heads in cloth. If they hit they leave a bruise and nothing more. And before you ask, yes, I have been eating properly. Ike has ensured that I remain healthy.” Reyson smiled. “Relax, Tibarn.”

“And you’ve been doing your part as well.” The king grinned. “I heard your galdrar. They’re beautiful. I’ve missed hearing you sing, too.”

“Tibarn—”

“Reyson, I want to try again.”

“That’s unfortunate. I’m with King Kilvas.”

“That _is_ unfortunate. I suppose I’ll have to buy you off of him.”

Reyson clenched his fists. Punching Tibarn would probably shatter his entire arm and he couldn’t afford that right now. “Are you intentionally angering me?”

“Is it working?”

“ _Tibarn_ —”

The king kissed him. Complete disregard for his relationship with Naesala, complete disregard for everything that had happened between them in Serenes. Reyson caught the feeling in his heart. Regret and sorrow and just a touch of hope that maybe this would work.

It _wouldn’t_ , of course. Because Reyson had Naesala. And who needed Tibarn anyways? With his skilled hands and strong arms and his lips, Ashera, his whole damned mouth on Reyson’s, tongue slipping in just as it had before, fingers trailing into the feathers at the base of his wings just the way he liked, stealing his breath away.

Reyson couldn’t help the moan that escaped him. This was unfair play and it was _working_.

“What the _hell_?”

Until Naesala landed next to them.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Naesala wasn’t the sort that could be reasoned with. Not outside of a business deal, at any rate. He was stubborn and couldn’t be talked to if he wasn’t in the mood and at the moment, he certainly wasn’t in the mood. Reyson had managed to convince him to stay and talk but that in itself had been a feat. Having the crow king listen instead of interrupt was another matter entirely.

“Look, I’m not going to sit here and listen to you lie to me.”

“ _He_ kissed _me_. I didn’t want anything to do with him. He was saying all sorts of things about you and I—”

“Kissed him to shut him up?”

“ _No_ , Naesala. I stood up for you. Although now that we’re here and discussing it, I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Oh? So somehow this is my fault now?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth, Naesala.”

“It’s better than what he’s put there.”

Reyson let out a frustrated growl. “Will you _listen_ to yourself? You’re worse than a housewife in the marketplace!”

“So now we’ve switched roles then?” Naesala got to his feet. “Frankly, I’d like to put all of this behind us.”

The blond sighed. “Now you’re thinking properly—”

“I mean all of this. If you’re going to let another man kiss you I can’t be a part of it.”

“Naesala—”

“I’m going home.”

())CRAYOLA))>

In the end, Naesala didn’t make it out of camp.

He wasn’t sure why he’d landed in the first place. But here he was, perched on a flat rock near the foot of the mountain with his chin in his hands and feeling rather terrible. He told himself that the rest was just because his wings were sore from sleeping awkwardly the night before and he needed a break before going to Kilvas. Although nobody could have blamed him; Reyson had been half-naked and pressed against him and moving for the sake of his wings would have woken the heron up.

That thought was frustrating. They’d had something _good_ , too. Reyson had refused him for months and snuck him into camp (although it wasn’t really sneaking when Ike had grudgingly told everyone to ignore the raven completely) and a thousand other things. And then the moment he’d seen Tibarn again they’d been all over each other.

And now that stupid green-haired thief was talking to him, half-smirking and flipping a knife from finger to finger. Naesala could do that with coins and was just waiting for him to slip and lop off a finger.

“So what did he do?”

“It’s of no concern to a commoner, much less a human.”

The thief brushed the comment off. “Cheat on you? Who was it, Ike? I know Reyson isn’t fond of humans but he and Ike have gotten rather close. Or was it the Hawk King? Living together for as long as they did, I’m sure that _something_ must have come up between them.”

“You pay too much attention to the affairs of others.”

“I’m simply observant.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because Tormod’s off with the heron because you left. Won’t shut up about it. You really broke his heart.”

“He’s the one who kissed another man.”

“So now what, then? You’re just going to move on as quickly as he did?”

“Mind your own business.”

“Make me.”

Naesala glared. Sothe glared back.

“You’re a pain in the ass, kid. You really are.”

“Shut up,” Sothe muttered.

“Make me,” the king mocked back.

Sothe pounced.

It took a moment for what was happening to register in Naesala’s mind. The thief was straddling his hips, one hand tangled in his hair and the other gripping his shoulder tightly. His mouth was warm and his tongue was already in the king’s mouth, probing, teasing. Naesala smirked and kissed him back. His hands didn’t move from where they were supporting him and his head tilted only slightly but his tongue slid out, pushed against the thief’s. A kid shouldn’t be so bold, not with the goddessdamned King of Kilvas.

Reyson and Tormod took that opportunity to appear. Sothe had pulled away with a gasp and bitten his bottom lip, catching the redhead’s eye briefly and then looking away. The sage had turned, cloak billowing behind him. Sothe had leaped from Naesala’s lap and chased after him, leaving the crow king alone with a rather put-out looking Reyson.

Naesala was completely sure that any chance he’d had of making this all better was gone.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Look, I’m not going to sit here and have you lie to me.”

Naesala gritted his teeth. “ _He_ kissed _me_. I didn’t provoke him or ask for it or anything. He showed up and started badmouthing the both of us and I—”

“Kissed him to shut him up?”

“No, I—” Naesala stopped mid-sentence. Was Reyson smiling? Just barely, but there was a hint of a smirk on the blonde’s lips.

“Doesn’t this all sound vaguely familiar to you?”

“I—what?”

The heron smiled and knelt on the ground in front of Naesala. Gently he took the crow’s hands and kissed them. “Idiot. You accuse me of kissing Tibarn and then not an hour later you’ve got a sixteen-year-old thief in your lap and you’re kissing him. But we both claim that neither of us initiated it. The simple fact is that when someone kisses you, you almost always kiss them back. It’s a physical reaction and nothing more.” Reyson stood and seated himself behind Naesala, nuzzling between his wings. “You know how in love with you I am. Why on earth would you doubt that for even a second?”

“Because I saw you with him, in his arms, leaning into it.” Naesala sighed. “It’s a reasonable reaction for those of us who can’t read minds, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Now Reyson had moved upward and was gently kissing the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Naesala breathed. It took all of his willpower to remain composed. “I’m sorry, too.”

“What would you do if I proposed a threesome?”

 _That_ caught Naesala’s attention. He turned and cocked an eyebrow at a furiously blushing Reyson. “A threesome? With Tibarn?”

“Yes. Let’s not lie to ourselves here; the three of us are all terrifically pent-up. And I will admit that there is still a touch of attraction I feel toward Tibarn.”

“I thought—”

“There is a difference between love and attraction. Tibarn and I were together at a time, but things happened and we fell apart. However…” Reyson swallowed. “…I still have feelings for him. Not as much as I do for you. But feelings nonetheless.”

“So you’re saying that you want to try a night of all three of us screwing each other’s brains out to see who you would rather be with?” Naesala chuckled.

“Perhaps, eventually. Right now I want to take a chance to re-acquaint myself with Tibarn. But at the same time, I don’t want to leave you. And maybe, somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have both of you. Sexually, that is.” Reyson sighed. “Does that make sense?”

Naesala pretended to think about it. Then he gathered the heron in his arms and smiled. “In Kilvas, we don’t care about having multiple partners. Or, at the very least, most of us don’t. I certainly don’t. Multiple partners would make things…interesting, at the very least.” He leaned in until his lips were brushing Reyson’s ear. “And you’re not the only one who’s had dirty thoughts about King Phoenicis.”

They laughed at that. Reyson flung his arms around the crow and kissed him.

“So are we alright now, then?”

“I wouldn’t be kissing you if we weren’t.” He leaned down and scraped his teeth along Reyson’s throat. “Although I _am_ disappointed that we were interrupted this morning.”

“Naesala—”

“If you want to, of course. I’ve waited this long. It won’t kill me to wait some more.” He had Reyson’s collar undone entirely now and had his lips pressed against the heron’s collarbone. “I love you. I can wait.”

The prince flushed. “I…I don’t want… _sex_ , per se. But I do, at the same time.”

“So if I were to blow you—”

“ _Naesala_.” Reyson chuckled softly and squeezed him. “Is that all that’s on your mind?”

“When I’m with you? Not entirely.”

“Oh?”

Naesala grinned. “Sometimes it’s just how much I’ve fallen for you. And how happy I want to make you, and that I don’t want us to ever fall apart. And that you’re beautiful.” He leaned up and looked Reyson in the eye. “You are very precious to me.”

“You sweet-talker.” Reyson tilted his head back as Naesala returned to his throat. “Be gentle with me. I need to be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Not now. Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Naesala smirked and sucked gently on the heron’s neck. “Well, you _are_ the one who proposed a threesome. At the very least, we should make sure Tibarn can hear us. Otherwise he might think that he’s got direct claim to you rather than me.”

“You dirty-minded carrion bird.”

“Yes, well, nobody’s perfect. Have you told Tibarn about all this? Because you really should if you haven’t.” Reyson was silent for a moment and Naesala chuckled, pressing another sucking kiss alongside the first. “Go on, have a word with him. I’ll find you tonight.”

“And what if he doesn’t accept all this? He’ll either call claim to me or refuse to speak with me. There is no middle ground here.”

“Then he’ll find himself with a very disappointed and _very_ angry raven. Go. I love you.”

“Thank you,” Reyson murmured. “I don’t care what anyone says. You’re really very understanding.”

“Don’t go around spreading it. Goddess knows what will happen if you do.”

Reyson kissed him, tongue delving into Naesala’s mouth and drawing a groan. He was too damned good with his mouth. Briefly he wondered if Tibarn was the same way; after all, Reyson had spent years with the hawk king. He had to have picked up a thing or two, right?

“You’ll find out tonight,” Reyson murmured. “I’m not doing it dry, though. If you’ve got no oil, get some.”

“As you wish.” Naesala kissed him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

Tormod couldn’t help cackling.

Sothe glared. “Next time, _you_ can be the one who helps Reyson prove his point. I taste _crow_ , Tormod. That damned bird had his tongue halfway down my throat.”

Tormod kept on laughing. “Well, if you hadn’t pounced him the way you did none of this would be happening. I asked you to kiss him, not throw yourself at him.”

“I was doing what you told me to.” Sothe pouted. “Stupid sage.”

The redhead finally settled down and sat up just long enough to catch Sothe and pull him down. The thief sighed and pulled Tormod close. The sage smiled.

“I appreciate it. I don’t know what I’d have done if Reyson was in here complaining every day. I’ve got my own life; I don’t need another person’s worries stacked on top of my own.”

“So does that mean that I should shut up too?”

Tormod smiled and kissed Sothe’s forehead. “No. You’re part of my life and that means that your worries come with me.”

Sothe grinned and propped himself up on one elbow to look at the sage. “You’re being strange today. Telling me to kiss the king of a nation of laguz, laughing about it, being all lovey-dovey. What’s gotten into you?”

Tormod shrugged. “I dunno. Nothing good.”

The thief chuckled and leaned down to kiss the sage. Tormod let out a soft sound of appreciation and leaned into the kiss, tongue slipping between Sothe’s lips and exploring familiar territory. Sothe shrugged his scarf off and unbuckled Tormod’s cloak; the sage undid the thief’s shirt and slid his fingers along the bare skin. The thief made a move for Tormod’s neck but the sage was faster, his mouth roaming Sothe’s throat and his hands trailing down his chest, thumbs flicking against his nipples.

“Tormod, you’re…hey…!” A sighing moan escaped him as Tormod rolled them over, straddling his hips and continuing his affections.

“I love you,” Tormod breathed. “Even if Muarim finds out about us…I’m not afraid anymore.”

“S-so…we could…?”

“If…if you wanted to.”

“We don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Tormod kissed him gently. Slowly Sothe reached up and relieved the sage of his shirt. They had gone this far before, certainly, half-naked and pressed against each other as they kissed until their arousal became too apparent. At that point Tormod would always flush and turn away and Sothe would curl around him, pressing kisses to the sage’s neck and shoulders until finally they fell asleep. But tonight was different, somehow. Maybe it was the way Tormod was kissing him, confidently and without any sign of stopping. Maybe it was the fact that Tormod had his legs spread and his rear directly above Sothe’s already hardening cock.

“Stop thinking,” Tormod breathed. His hands trailed downward and his fingers found Sothe’s nipples again. Sothe let out a gasp as the sage pinched them. A chuckle came from above him and he saw Tormod smirking.

He tried saying something but the sage was leaning down, trailing kisses down his throat, his collarbone, down one side of his chest. His tongue flickered across one of the pebbled buds and Sothe bit his bottom lip. Then Tormod was sucking, flicking his tongue and doing something with his teeth that reduced all coherent thought to gasps of pleasure.

What caught his attention in the end was Tormod’s free hand fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He regained some coherency at that point and propped himself up on his elbows. His belt was undone in an instant and his pants were sliding down his hips, Tormod flushed but never ceasing. A moment later his erection sprang free and he kicked his pants off.

“Are you sure?” he breathed, hardly daring to speak.

Tormod looked up at him and smiled. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t.”

Then his hand gripped Sothe’s cock and that was the end of discussing it. And Tormod _knew_ what he was doing; there was no question about that. The sage was pressed against him, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on whatever skin he could reach while his hand moved expertly over Sothe’s erection. Sothe had been reduced to a quivering, gasping, begging mess over the course of two minutes.

In the back of his mind he was aware that he should be doing something back. That Tormod still had his shorts on even though his erection was clearly visible through the baggy fabric. Sothe forced himself to pull away from Tormod. The sage looked at him, confused. Sothe just smirked.

“Payback.”

In the end, pulling away had been worth it.

After all, he mused, it was good to know that Tormod was enjoying himself. His fingers were entangled in Sothe’s hair, squeezing with every jolt of pleasure. And the way his hips jerked upward was adorable, and the muffled groans were damned intoxicating. The icing on the cake was that Sothe was causing this.

He would have said something if his mouth hadn’t been full.

It was still worth it when he pulled away. Tormod had given him a questioning look and Sothe had held up a finger and dug around in one of his bags with one hand, eventually finding what he was looking for.

“What is it?” Tormod asked.

“Lubrication,” Sothe replied. “Sex hurts if you’re not prepared.”

The sage couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. “And you keep that with you at all times.”

“I stole it from Aimee a week ago.” He chuckled. “Tormod, I love you so much. I’m glad that this is with you.”

“I love you too, Sothe.”

“You’re on top, then.” He smiled and unscrewed the top, dipping his fingers in. They came out coated and he placed the container on the floor next to their bedrolls. “At least, for the first time.”

“You’re on top, dummy. Can’t you see that?”

Sothe shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.” He slid his slick fingers around Tormod’s cock. “You’ll see,” he explained. “I want you to really, really enjoy this. And you will, I’m sure.” When the sage’s cock was coated he positioned himself. “I love you.”

“Sothe—”

He let himself slide downward. It didn’t hurt as much as he had expected. That, at least, was a good thing. And Tormod was biting his lip and quivering, fingers digging into the blankets. His hips jerked upward and at once he was fully sheathed. For a moment they froze. Then Sothe lifted himself until just the head of Tormod’s cock was inside of him and then slid down again.

The sage caught on fairly quickly after that. 

He wasn’t sure when Tormod’s hand had gripped his cock again, only that it had. Tormod was moaning and thrusting and flushed and in between gasps he managed to vocalize that he was going to come. Sothe only smiled and they moved ever faster until finally Tormod was biting his knuckle and moaning his release. He only frowned afterward when he saw Sothe’s still-dripping erection. The thief merely shrugged.

“If it’s a concern, then fix it.”

It didn’t take long for him either; he’d been so close beforehand that if Tormod hadn’t stopped to muffle his own cry of pleasure Sothe was sure that he would have come at nearly the same time. But that didn’t matter; Tormod was returning the favour and he was moaning and begging for just a bit more and finally he was complete, shooting across the sage’s stomach and chest.

“I love you,” he murmured, letting Tormod’s cock slip out of him and then curling up next to the sage. Absently he wiped most of his seed from the sage’s chest and then wiped his hand on the sheets. The redhead didn’t open his eyes but turned his head just enough to kiss him. Soft and warm and shy, just like their first had been.

“I love you too, Sothe.”


	21. In which Muarim gets a shock

It was nearly noon when Sothe and Tormod woke up and even then they didn’t bother leaving their tent. Ike had designated today an ‘every-man-for-himself’ sort of day while he and Soren and the rest of their war council tried to sort out exactly what to do about Daein. So as long as they played their cards right, nobody would have to know that they’d spent the entire morning in bed. If worse came to worse they could always say that they’d taken a page out of Haar’s book.

So far it was working exceptionally well. They hadn’t even bothered to get dressed yet, instead choosing to remain wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing, talking, drifting in and out of sleep. Calill had stuck her head in once, on the verge of ordering Tormod to get out of bed for a magic lesson but she’d left as quickly as she’d appeared. Astrid came in looking for Sothe to spar with but upon seeing them she had turned several different shades of red and gone back the way she’d come. Tormod had chuckled at that one, dropping a kiss to Sothe’s already-marked neck. Then Ranulf had poked his head in, flushed and out of breath.

“Muarim’s headed this way and he doesn’t look happy,” he panted. “I’ll stall him as best I can but you need to get dressed and make sure he doesn’t see your necks.”

They had panicked at that point. Rather, Sothe had. Tormod’s brow had furrowed and he had tugged his clothing on half-heartedly. There was concern written on his face but not panic. Finally he clapped his hands onto a fully-dressed Sothe’s shoulders.

“I’m telling him that I’m queer.”

“Get your cloak on or you won’t be around to tell him.” Sothe threw the heavy fabric onto Tormod’s shoulders.

“Sothe, he’ll be able to—”

“Smell it.”

The words were growled from between clenched teeth. They both flinched. Sothe’s hand caught Tormod’s and squeezed. Muarim was certainly angry. Behind him, Ranulf was making a flailing gesture that Tormod guessed was supposed to be some sort of apology. He gritted his teeth and stood.

“So I’m queer. So what?”

“I have told you that men are supposed to be with women. And here you are, _fucking_ the thief behind my back.” The tiger’s hands were balled into fists. That couldn’t be good.

“And you’ve also told me that one day I would meet and fall in love with some pretty beorc. It’s been done. So why are you so angry with me?”

“A pretty _female_ beorc. You’ve been misleading me. Saying that you’re only friends even though you stink of him constantly. Men are not permitted to be with men. You have committed an unspeakable sin.”

It was Sothe’s turn to stand and he drew himself up to his full height. He still barely reached Muarim’s shoulder. “Don’t you _dare_ speak of your son this way.”

Muarim aimed his fist and landed a blow on his jaw. Sothe hit the ground, dazed. Blood dripped from his lower lip but he staggered to his feet and wiped it away. The tiger took a step toward him and Tormod stepped between them, glaring defiantly at his caregiver. Gold eyes bored into his but he didn’t move.

“How can you do this to your own son?” Sothe asked. He was swaying in place and Tormod reached out to steady him. The motion made Muarim visibly flinch and he gritted his teeth.

“I have no son.”

“How can you say that!?” Tormod shouted, tears coming to his eyes. “How can you raise someone and call them your son for their whole life and then rip that away from them the moment that something you didn’t have planned happens?! How can you look at us and say that this is unspeakable?! I’m so in love with him that I don’t know what to do half the time! And having to keep it from you makes things worse! Why does it _matter_ that we’re both boys!?”

“Because it’s unnatural!” the tiger roared. “What makes you think that having another male as a lover is normal!?”

Sothe’s eyes narrowed. “What makes _you_ think it _isn’t_?”

“Sothe…” Tormod frowned; this was taking things too far. There was a point where Muarim would be too angry to care about whether or not they came out unharmed. They were toeing the line. The thief was ignoring him though, speaking his mind as he always did, making Muarim angrier and angrier.

Tormod caught the thief’s hand. Sothe gave him a confused look but it was too late; Muarim was past anger at this point and had transformed.

That was their cue to run, slashing through the back of their tent and barrelling through it, nearly knocking down Boyd as they went. The warrior shouted something rude after them but was silenced as Muarim leaped over him.

“We’re going to die,” were Sothe’s words. His grip tightened on Tormod’s hand. The sage raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve spent your whole life in the slums, running from the authorities, but now that we’re being chased by my father you’re convinced we’re going to die?” He let go as they ran around either side of a tree. “What kind of thief are you?”

That set the spark back in Sothe’s eyes. He grinned. “Head for General Ike’s tent. We’re about to destroy a war meeting.”

“We’re—”

“Going to get the General’s attention. If two teenagers come barrelling through—” he paused as they weaved between tents. Muarim was falling behind only slightly. “—followed by an angry tiger he’s bound to notice that there’s a threat.”

“Muarim isn’t—”

“Tormod, he’s trying to kill us _right fucking now_. Or at least _me_. That’s a threat if I ever saw one.” Ike’s tent was in view now. He reached out a hand and Tormod caught it. “In for one gold, in for a hundred. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Sothe shouted a warning as they were within earshot of Ike’s tent but didn’t slow down even in the slightest. He seemed to _gain_ speed at this point, if that was at all possible. Muarim was closing in one them; on flat ground and in a straight line it was easy to catch prey. Something came to mind about being able to run faster scared than angry but it was thrown from his head as they burst through the tent, dodging around people and finally slowing to a stop, collapsing on the ground. Ike already had his sword out and Soren had a Tornado in his hands immediately. Elincia’s retainers stepped in front of her and Tibarn’s hand caught Reyson’s.

Seconds later Muarim appeared. Tormod tensed and Sothe gathered the sage in his arms, shielding him from what was inevitable. He pressed his forehead against the redhead’s and squeezed him tightly. A moment later they heard the grunt of Ike swinging his blade and the singing of steel as it cut. A surprised roar and then the thud as the tiger hit the table, sending papers and books flying. It was finished as quickly as it had started. Ike was giving orders and from somewhere nearby there was the glow of a Heal staff being used. Tormod’s shoulders were shaking and Sothe looped one arm under his knees and the other under his shoulder and picked him up. From somewhere behind them Ike said something about an explanation later and Sothe nodded in acknowledgement.

Minutes later they were out of camp and Sothe collapsed on the ground in a grove of trees. The adrenaline rush was gone and now he was just _tired_. For Tormod’s sake he had to stay strong.

It wasn’t that hard. Tormod curled up against him and cried into his shirt and he held the sage close, whispering that everything would be alright, Muarim would be fine, he’ll come around, don’t worry. Countless times he said ‘I love you’. Finally Tormod’s breathing evened out and he stopped sniffling. Sothe leaned down and buried his nose in Tormod’s hair. Ash and desert flowers. He kissed the sage’s hair but Tormod didn’t look at him, simply burrowed further into his chest and let out a sigh.

The crunch of a boot on the ground was what finally brought them back to the real world. Sothe turned and Tormod looked up briefly. Ike smiled at them.

“Can I sit with you or is now not the time?”

Sothe shrugged. “I don’t mind. Tormod?”

The sage let out a grunt and shook his head. Ike sat down next to them and placed a hand on Tormod’s shoulder. “You’re insanely brave, you know that? The both of you, but Tormod in particular. We managed to get out of him that you told him you’re gay. That takes an amazing amount of courage. It’s something that I never managed to do.”

“You never told your father?” Sothe asked. Ike shrugged.

“There was never a good time to do it. Although traditionally it is something that’s not exactly smiled upon.” Ike shrugged. “And Father was…he was Father. Terrifying might have been a good word for him. He was a good man and accepting of everyone but this just seemed like something he wouldn’t like, so I never told him. And now it’s too late to tell him anything. Besides,” he sighed, “nobody here really gives two figs whether or not you’re straight or queer or whatever you call it. Half this camp fights for the other army.” At their look he chuckled. “We’re all queer. I am and all but four of the mercenaries are. And why does it matter? I’m still capable of doing my job. They’re all capable of doing theirs. My friends don’t care and almost all of the soldiers who know don’t care either.”

“Muarim does,” Tormod muttered. Ike sighed again.

“Look…I’m not trying to say that he’s wrong. But…he’s unjustified in attacking you over something so trivial, and in the middle of camp, no less. I don’t mind that you two were sleeping in.” He grinned. “After last night you deserve to.”

Sothe turned an unhealthy shade of red. “So…you heard…?”

Ike chuckled. “It was either you two or Reyson. He and Tibarn…or maybe Naesala…” he frowned. “I don’t even _know_ what’s going on between the three of them.”

Tormod sat up, wiping his eyes. Then he smiled. “You probably don’t want to know. Crows are…promiscuous? I think that’s the right word. They don’t care about having one or two or whether they’re men or women.” He shrugged when Ike gave him a questioning look. “We had a lot of crows in the desert. I think maybe it’s why Muarim’s…the way he is. But I figured that after living with it for so long, it might soften the blow when I told him.”

“Do you know why he’s so…homophobic?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Ike chuckled. “Soren made it up on the spot. ‘Phobic’ is the word his teacher used for being afraid of something; ‘homosexual’ is what queers are called. He’s talking about the irrational fear of people like us.”

“I don’t know why,” Tormod murmured. “I think it might have something to do with when he was a slave, though I couldn’t say for sure. He’s just…always been that way. When he was raising me he made sure to tell me exactly how things would turn out for me. A future with a girl and a bunch of kids. There was no other option in his eyes.”

“And then you fell in love with Sothe.”

A smile broke onto the sage’s face. “And then I fell in love with Sothe. And that really messed things up.”

“Do you regret it?”

Tormod shook his head. “No. How could I?”

“Even with your father angry at you, you don’t regret falling in love and being happy?” Ike smiled. “That’s exactly right. Whatever happened to him is his own business and his own burden to bear. That shouldn’t keep you from being happy. While you should respect him as your father, if he’s going to tear you away from what you hold dear then don’t hesitate to defy him.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just saying this because I’m young and stupid and don’t have my own children. But that’s what I truly believe. That everyone deserves to be happy no matter who they are or what race they are and that you shouldn’t let anyone keep you from being happy.”

“Thank you,” Tormod murmured. “I’ve been so confused about all of this but I think that I’m okay now.” He paused. “Is Muarim going to be okay?”

“I didn’t aim to kill. Only to stun. Soren healed him and he’s in his tent. Largo’s talking to him right now.” Ike smiled. “It’s all going to be fine.”

“I don’t—”

“Tormod.” Ike smiled and placed his hands on the redhead’s shoulders. “He’s your father.”

“We’re not actually—”

“He raised you as his own and time and time again he’s proven that he loves you. Your family is not your blood but who you are dedicated to and who will love you no matter what.” He stretched and stood, cracking his neck. “I’m heading back to camp. I’ll see you both later. Get some rest when you can and get some sparring practice if you can. We’re marching tomorrow morning so don’t get too tired.”

“Sir.” Tormod saluted. “Thank you.”

Ike tipped his fingers back at the sage. “Any time.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

“That was harsh.”

Muarim’s tail twitched only slightly. Aside from that, there was no sign that he’d heard the berserker. Largo sighed and sat down a ways away from the laguz.

“Well? Don’t you think you were hard on him? From what I’ve heard, you raised him for nearly his whole life. Don’t you think that all of this was too much?”

The tiger growled. “Who are you to question me?”

Largo made a face. “You shouted at him about how he’s committing an unspeakable act by falling in love with another boy and then chasing them both through camp with what looks like intent to kill. They were right to go to the General and _he_ was right to attack you. You’re completely beyond reasoning with about this for reasons that nobody can discern. At the very least you should apologize to both Ike and your son.”

Muarim’s gaze hardened. “You should be minding your own business.”

“What kind of role model do you think you’re being? You need to behave like a reasonable adult.”

“I am far older than you, human.”

“You’re not acting like it.”

“And what do you know?!” Muarim’s fists were clenching. Largo tensed, prepared to dodge should the laguz come for him. The tiger continued. “Have you raised any children yourself, much less a child from the opposite race?! Have you ever been a slave?! Tell me, what hardships have you have to take upon yourself?”

“Abuse. Physical. Sexual. All of it by my father. Years’ worth. I still wake up in a cold sweat some nights.” Largo said it all nonchalantly but his eyes didn’t meet Muarim’s. “But I opened up to someone instead of hiding it away from the world. I let myself be comforted instead of letting it eat away at me.” His eyes met the tiger’s and he extended a hand. “I want to help you.”

“Why would a human want to aid a laguz?”

“Because I see in front of me a good person. Not someone that is below me. I fight alongside you, not against you. And I think we could be friends, given time.”

“You are…very strange.” Muarim sighed and looked at Largo’s extended hand. Carefully he let his fingers brush the other man’s palm. “I…I was a slave. Taken from my parents when I was very young. They worked me out in the fields, in the home. Cleaning or harvesting or simply moving furniture. They made me do degrading things.” His hand started shaking and he began to pull away but Largo caught it and squeezed gently. “I…he forced me, when I turned forty—perhaps thirteen in beorc years—to…” Muarim’s brow furrowed. Clearly it was hard for him to say it.

“I get it,” Largo murmured. “He was…a disgusting man, I’m sure. To do that to a child…is despicable. It certainly brings your phobia into clearer focus.”

“I—”

“Correct me if I’m wrong. You were forced into a situation where being queer was a bad thing. Completely unspeakable. I’m sure that your view of it that way was reinforced by the sick fuck that owned you. So when released, you didn’t get a chance to see it any differently.” He squeezed Muarim’s hand gently. “So this morning, when you discovered that your son had been with another man, you assumed that his experience had been similar because you were never given the chance to see it any other way. And because of that you lashed out in the way that you never were able to do as a slave. Is that about right?”

Muarim nodded numbly. “You are…strangely intuitive.”

Largo smiled. “I think that you need to take some time to think. I won’t stay here if you don’t want me to, but I’d like it if you at least considered talking to Tormod. Tell him what you just told me. It’ll give each of you a sense of understanding about each other. And maybe you should ask him what it was like for him.”

“I couldn’t—”

“I don’t mean right away. Take some time. Maybe one day he’ll be comfortable telling you. And besides, didn’t he tell you himself that he was in love? I don’t know if it’s the same, but…when I met Calill, everything was suddenly alright. I was with someone I loved and that made it different somehow. It’s probably the same for Tormod. He’s given himself completely to someone he’s in love with and I think that that’s what’s important.”

Muarim let out a great sigh. “Thank you.”

“Anytime you need it, I’m here to listen. Or to spar, or anything.” Largo chuckled. “Ten gold says I could pin you with my bare hands.”

The tiger cocked an eyebrow. Then his lips curved upward in a crooked grin, revealing one fang. “Twenty says that I could lift more than you.”

“Thirty says I can eat more than you.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

Largo chuckled at that and stood. “Come on, then. We’ll spar first. Get rid of some of your energy. You still seem tense.”

“A bit.” Muarim caught the hand offered to him and let the other man pull him up. Then he cursed. Largo cocked an eyebrow. The laguz chuckled. “You were right.”

“About what?”

“I feel better.”

“Enough to hunt down Tormod and apologize?”

“Perhaps.” His eyes narrowed. “But I believe we’ve got a wager first.”

“And you don’t feel like facing him right now.”

“That too.” 

They laughed at that and headed for the sparring grounds.


	22. In which Soren is kidnapped

“So how bad are things?”

Soren sighed heavily and sipped his tea. Beside him, Ike downed the rest of his and rested his chin in his hand. “Food is running low. We need fresh fruit and meat; what we’ve been able to gather from the locals isn’t enough for an army this size. Our weapons situation isn’t as bad but it’s declining slowly but steadily. Steel and iron have become rare so weapons are being forged from mostly silver. It makes the blades strong but they break from the hilt more easily. And they’re expensive; one sword is costing nearly a thousand gold. Lances are going for twelve hundred, axes for fifteen. This is beyond ridiculous, but what choice do we have?”

Ike sighed. “It’s war. What do you expect?”

Soren made a face. “For this all to be over in a few weeks. I’m sick of this. I can’t believe I’m saying it but I want to go home.”

Ike smirked. “I thought home was where the heart it.”

The sage smiled just slightly and laced his fingers through Ike’s. “It is. Most certainly. Every time I see you I’ve come home. But that’s not what I mean and you know it. I miss the fort, even though it was old and falling apart in places and even though Boyd’s voice was loud enough to go through the walls at midnight. I want to sleep in my own bed—”

“Like you ever did before,” Ike chuckled.

Soren swatted him. “I want to start in my room and end up in yours and then sneak back before anyone else is awake with the hopes that we don’t get caught. I want to sit under the tree just off the property with a book and a cup of tea and have you curled up around me pretending not to read over my shoulder.” Tears caught in his eyes and he forced them away. “I want this to be done. I’m tired and sick and the stress is making me want foods that I wouldn’t ever eat otherwise at serving sizes that are completely unreasonable for someone as small as I am. The spirits are more and more restless with each passing day and it’s hard to tune them out. I’m making stupid mistakes in my calculations. I just…”

“Want things to be normal again,” Ike murmured. “And yet…even after all of this is done, there’s no home for us to go back to. We burned it after Daein attacked. The only thing left would be the tree and we can’t very well live in that.” Then he smiled. “And really…I think that at this point we could share a room.”        

The sage flushed so deeply his brand disappeared. Ike laughed and Soren swatted him again. “Don’t make jokes like that.”

“Well why not? We’ve been sharing tents and rooms since Gallia. Everybody _knows_ that we’re together whether they say it or not. I think that Boyd is a little uncomfortable with it but it’s none of his business anyways.” He caught both of Soren’s hands and squeezed. “I’m not saying that you have to decide right now. But I am saying that I want to rebuild once we’re completely finished with this war. And I want to not have to sneak around. I love falling asleep with you and I love waking up to you even if you’re cranky or sick.”

Soren let out a half-smile. “Well…perhaps we could rebuild. The building was mostly stone so it would be blackened by the smoke and nothing more. We’d have to clean out the ashes, buy new furniture. Build a new roof, certainly.”

“If my father and mother were capable of building it and raising me at the same time, I’m sure that we could manage rebuilding with…” he paused to count on his fingers, “eleven.” 

Soren’s eyes flickered over to their bedrolls. “And besides,” he said slowly, “if we were to get a room together, we’d need a bigger bed.”

Ike grinned and kissed him. “I’ll look into it as soon as I can.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

Eventually Soren snapped.

It wasn’t like it had been done on purpose. Well, maybe a little. He had headed to the training grounds with Mia and Boyd, threatening them on pain of death if they didn’t take things seriously this time around. Upon arrival they’d found Gatrie flat-out _molesting_ Shinon, the sniper biting his lower lip and taking aim at a target that seemed an unreachable distance away.

That was what had set Soren off. He reached for his Elwind and focussed. Spirits whispered to him and he shrugged them off; he didn’t need their help for what he was doing. Somewhere behind him Mia started running, dragging a confused Boyd with her. He didn’t pay much attention to them. As the knight whispered something to the sniper and Shinon let fly so did Soren.

The spell caught the arrow and snapped it halfway to the target.

At that point they had turned, Gatrie hastily pulling his hands from Shinon’s clothing. Soren had glared at them and started lecturing, going on and on about proper etiquette and that they should be taking the war seriously and to at least go back to their tent if they were going to shag. Shinon had interjected throughout, making snide comments about how if Soren could keep half the camp awake every other night (and they hadn’t since three days ago, Soren’s mind dully informed him) then they could certainly multitask on the training grounds. Soren had shouted that multitasking wasn’t effective anyways and certainly wouldn’t be while Gatrie had his hands down the sniper’s clothing and Shinon had retorted by pointing out that at least he now knew he could hit a target three consecutive times at sixty paces while being jerked off.

At that point Mia had returned, carting Ike along almost as easily as she’d dragged Boyd. Soren saw him out of the corner of his eye and stopped midsentence to give Ike The Look.

Ike froze in place, slung Mia over his shoulder, and went back the way they’d come.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Oddly enough it was a combination of the girls and Stefan that had managed to calm him down. Stefan had appeared on the training grounds moments after Ike had disappeared and ignored The Look completely (Soren suspected that it had something to do with receiving dirty looks his entire life), instead picking Soren up as easily as Ike had lifted Mia and carrying him away from Shinon who, at that point, had collapsed to the ground from laughter. When they arrived back in camp Stefan deposited him in the supply tent where the girls (minus those over twenty, Lucia, and Elincia) were perched on and in between crates, waiting for him. Mia smiled.

“You’ve got to relax. You’re tense enough as it is and there’s something just not right about you right now. You’re going to snap at this rate.” She threw some sort of pastry at him. “You need to sit and relax away from stupid boys.”

“I have work to do.” Soren paused and eyed the pastry in his hand. “Is…”

“Cherry,” Ilyana informed him. She ate one in two bites and reached for another. “You’ll like them.”

“We have no spare expenses for such spending.”

“Staying on your good side is worth a week’s pay,” Jill said, smirking. “It seemed like something you’d like.”

“Based on what, exactly?” Soren raised one eyebrow and picked the top off the pastry, eyeing the filling.

“You had nothing but fruit for breakfast. And we understand wanting something sweet.”

“Besides,” Mia said, smiling, “you’ve been stressed and sick every morning because of it. You need to sit and relax and eat properly. You’re skin and bones.”

“I consume enough to keep myself well.”

“You live offa _tea_ ,” Nephenee pointed out. Absently she munched on one of the pastries. “G’won, have a few; we ended up with too much. It ain’t gonna kill ya. Ah’m not gonna tell anyone, at least.”

Stefan’s hands landed on Soren’s shoulders gently. It was something the swordmaster clearly prided himself in—he was the only person aside from Ike allowed to touch Soren for more than a moment. He took every opportunity he could to touch Soren. A brush on the arm or a hand on his shoulder or gentle fingers bandaging him after a battle when Ike was preoccupied. Forehead to forehead when nobody was looking, Brand against Brand. Soren knew that Stefan was with Mordecai and had been for weeks but he let himself take solace in the other man regardless. He suspected that Stefan needed physical contact as much as any other untouchable and it was a matter of understanding that they had reached after leaving Talrega. Stefan understood everything. The beatings and the starvation and being stoned in the streets, being raped by bandits who were too oblivious to know what the mark meant. It was something that neither Ike nor Mordecai would ever understand.

Stefan shook him out of his thoughts. “Oi. Eat your damn pastry or I’m shoving it down your throat.” The swordmaster’s voice was firm but his hands and eyes were gentle. Soren shot him a look.

“Pour me some damn tea and I’ll consider it,” he mocked.

Stefan chuckled at that and pressed his Brand against Soren’s briefly. He hadn’t done this in front of people before and Soren felt his right eyebrow twitch only slightly. Before he could complain, Stefan was gone. Someone threw a pillow at him and he turned to glare but it was _Mist_ and how could he stay angry with her for very long? He sighed heavily and took a small bite of his pastry. Jill looked at him expectantly and raised an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“It is…acceptable.”

There was giggling after that. Soren sighed internally as he took another small bite and chewed slowly, letting the sweetness fill his mouth. They meant well, really. And he _had_ been on edge lately. His duties were being taken care of by Titania, or so he’d been informed by the redhead as he was dragged past. She had proven at the very least competent in the past.

Knuckles rapped on the side of his head. Stefan smiled and handed him a cup.

“I’m not telling you what it is. You’ve got to try it first.”

“And risk being poisoned?” He let out a half-smile. “Knowing you I’ll be unconscious within half a mark.”

“Drink your goddessdamned tea.”

It was sweet too. Blissfully warm. He took a moment to analyze what he was tasting. Cinnamon, liquorice, black pepper, orange. Some blend of spices he wasn’t sure of. Ilyana was the one to answer when he asked specifically what it was and she rattled off a long list of ingredients in order from most to least prominent. Soren couldn’t help smiling at that point. Not the smile he gave Ike; that was sacred and could never be given to anyone else. But he let his lips curve upwards anyways. That was the cue for everyone to fully relax and they started chatting, laughing, eating. Finally Mist touched his shoulder.

“Has something gone wrong with you and Ike?”

Soren shook his head. “No. I am merely under a heavy amount of stress and somewhat sleep-deprived.”

The brunet giggled at that. “Well, obviously.” When he raised an eyebrow at her she giggled again and couldn’t finish.

Mia was happy to fill him in. “Your tent is at the front of camp. We can _hear_ you. Or Ike.” She frowned. “I had ten gold that Ike was on top but then—”

He slammed a hand onto her mouth at that point but it was too late; they had caught the attention of the entire tent. He felt his cheeks heating and made an attempt to excuse himself but Jill and Lethe were sitting in front of the exit. He had no tomes, no knives. Not even a damned staff. And everyone was _looking_ at him now as well, giving him knowing smiles. Finally Marcia spoke up.

“Well it’s not as though it was really that much of a secret in the first place,” she pointed out. “And girls _do_ know everything. It’s not as though you could have kept it for long even if you’d wanted to.”

The sage let the last comment go. “I doubt that you know everything.”

Lethe raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what makes you think _that_?”

“Because it is impossible for any one person to know everything.”

“I said that girls know everything,” Marcia countered. “Not that I knew everything. Between all of us I’m sure we know more about everyone in camp than you do.”

“Gossip-mongers, the lot of you. Alright, then. Prove me wrong.” He paused for a moment and absently took another pastry when it was offered to him. “Why is it that when I tell Rolf that the sun is a giant ball of burning gas thousands upon thousands of miles from Tellius, he believes me, but if I tell him that Oscar has just repainted the fence and it’s still wet, he touches it?”

“Firstly, ‘cos it sounds crazy,” Nephenee supplied. “Second, it’s ‘cos he wants to prove t’ himself that you’re right. He’s provin’ ya right ’bout one thing by touchin’ the paint. But he can’t get offa the ground t’ touch th’ sun. He’s payin’ ya a compliment by provin’ you’re right ’bout one thing and trustin’ your word ’bout the other.”

“ _And_ ,” Marcia continued, “if he _could_ get up to the sun, he’d be touching that just as quickly.”

Soren swallowed. “What was the best thing before Oscar started slicing the bread so we didn’t have to do it?”

“Muston’s liquorice-cinnamon-orange tea,” Ilyana supplied. “You’re drinking the best of it right now.” She paused. “I still think it’s the best thing.”

“How shy is Kieran?”

“Insanely.” That was Marcia and she giggled. “He tries to overcompensate by being obnoxious and loud and all that but he’s really quite terrified of people rejecting him.”

It was starting to pique his curiosity now. He settled back-to-back with Stefan and finished his tea. If nothing else, this was potential blackmail material. And it was a good way to find out exactly how much they knew about his relationship with Ike. He grinned. “Shinon’s weakness.”

They all giggled at that. It was Mist who spoke up. “Rolf and Gatrie. He’d put his life on the line for either of them. And he’s the one who taught Rolf everything, even though he’d never admit it to anyone.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Either them, or my meatloaf.”

More laughter. Even Mist was giggling; she’d come to accept that her meatloaf was terrible months ago and had since deemed it as a punishment for anyone who misbehaved in camp. Soren felt himself relaxing more and more with each passing second. Stefan had put something in his tea, he was _sure_ of it at this point. But it felt good. Still not as good as it did when he was with Ike, but he’d driven the commander off with The Look and at this point he had no choice if he wanted any social interaction.

Not that he would ever actually _want_ that.

Still, he was asking questions. “What happened with Muarim yesterday? Specifically?”

Astrid was glad to put things into perspective for him. “He found out about Tormod and Sothe, or at least that’s what Sothe told me. He could smell it, or something. When confronted, Tormod denied nothing. Muarim was furious.” She shrugged (a gesture that she wouldn’t have dared try when they had just met—being improper had spread like wildfire through the camp, thanks to Boyd). “His reasons are a personal matter and you would be wise to leave him be.”

Soren made a mental note to look into this later. “Has Rhys shagged Ulki yet?”

 _That_ drew hysterical laughter from everyone, including Stefan. Finally Mia managed to get words out.

“ _No_ ,” she giggled. “Rhys _has_ spent the last week sleeping buck naked, though, so it’s only a matter of time.”

That set them off again. He was quiet for a moment, letting them settle. Now came the two hardest questions.

“And how many times have you heard Ike and I?”

“In the hundreds, at least,” Mia said after a moment of thought. “Doesn’t matter, though. Ike’s happy and you’re happy and that’s the important part, I guess.”

“However,” Nephenee pointed out, “if we start seein’ a buncha mini-Ikes and mini-Sorens runnin’ ‘round we’ll all get worried.”

He cocked an eyebrow (he seemed to be doing that a lot today). “Oh?”

She covered her mouth with one hand. “Means you’re a lady.”

More giggling. He had to put an end to that.

“What does the mark on my forehead mean?”

Behind him, Stefan tensed. Nobody answered lest they say the wrong thing. He looked at each of them expectantly. “Well?”

Silence for a long time. Stefan stretched and lay down on his stomach nonchalantly but his eyes met Soren’s. _How could you risk us like this?_ Soren looked away.

Finally Nephenee spoke (she seemed to be doing _that_ a lot today). “…maybe I’m just simple. But back home we’ve got a little girl with a mark like that on her shoulder. Her family won’t talk ‘bout it, like it’s somethin’ bad. But y’know…she’s a sweetie and her momma’s real nice too. I don’t think it matters what it means. It’s what’s on the inside that’s important.”

Murmurs of agreement. Stefan chuckled. “Well, those of us with strange birthmarks are thankful for people like you, Nephenee.”

She flushed. “You ain’t got no mark.”

Stefan hesitated and then pulled his hair away from his forehead. “People think that marks like this, marks that are so prominent are a bad thing. That we’re bringers of destruction.”

Ilyana shook her head. “You destroy Daein. That’s all. You’ve got a funny birthmark and Soren’s a Spirit Charmer.”

The tension left Stefan’s shoulders and he smiled. “Thank you for being so kind,” he murmured. “Ashera bless you both.”

Jill rolled her eyes. “This is touching. Very touching. But we’ve got tea to drink and pastries to eat. So _eat_.”

More laughter. The box of pastries was passed around again and Stefan poured more tea.

By the end of the afternoon, Soren was smiling and laughing with the rest of them.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Ranulf had nearly killed himself laughing. Ike had merely sighed and started muttering about it being ‘that time of year’ again. When Ranulf had asked, he had simply said, “It’s a _stupid_ tradition that I started by accident.”

The cat couldn’t leave it be at that point and Ike had explained. Then Ranulf had needed to sit down because he was laughing too hard to stand.

Ike just sighed. A moment later Boyd hurried past, waving a pair of pants in the air triumphantly with a pants-less Bastian right on his tail.


	23. In which Boyd loses his pants

Bastian was just being _childish_ at this point.

The count had, eventually (and after an solid hour of invalid threats and shouting), managed to get his pants back from Boyd. And it had all been in good fun. For the sake of tradition, and all that.

Until Bastian had retaliated.

How he’d gotten into the tree was completely beyond Boyd, because Bastian was a _nobleman_ and nobles didn’t climb trees. But there he was, cackling with unadulterated glee and holding Boyd’s pants up triumphantly. And to make matters _worse_ was the fact that he’d hidden every other pair of pants Boyd owned (all three of them) and the warrior had been forced to wander around camp asking group after group of bewildered soldiers if they had seen a pair of pants, Bastian, or any combination of the two. Eventually Ulki had pointed him in the right direction and Boyd had found himself with a cackling blonde and no pants to show for his efforts.

So then he had started shouting, or at least until Mia had leaped onto his back and covered his mouth with both hands.

“Why are we _shouting_?” she asked. “You interrupted…never mind.” She paused. “Why don’t you have any pants on?”

“Because they’re in a tree with a crazy nobleman.” Boyd sighed. “Don’t suppose _you_ have seen any of my pants. Because he took the tradition too far.”

“What tradition?” Mia was off his back and giving him an incredulous look. “Is this some sort of mercenary thing?”

“As a matter of fact, it is.” Boyd grinned. “Two years ago we were out on a trip of sorts. Hunting or fishing or something. We were all headed to bed and Mist stuck her head in Ike and Soren’s tent.”

Mia giggled. “So she saw—”

Boyd nodded. “Ike had Soren’s pants halfway off, apparently. And he said the first thing that came to mind.”

“Which was…?”

The warrior laughed. “He said that it was a little-known holiday that he’d overheard someone talking about in the market one day. ‘Steal Your Tentmate’s Pants Day’. And Mist completely bought it. She knows now, of course, but every year we stick with it.” Then he scowled. “And, in sticking with tradition, I stole Bastian’s pants earlier.”

“Right off of him?”

“Right off of him. But then he swore revenge. And now I have no pants whatsoever, and nobody has seen any either.” He sighed again. “If you _do_ happen to see any pants hidden around camp, please bring them to me. It’s a little…breezy.”

“You’re in your underwear. I don’t see why it _wouldn’t_ be.” Then Mia giggled. “I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

“Thank you.”

She gave him another strange look and then headed back toward the supply tent. Boyd watched her leave, wondered briefly why she was headed _there_ of all places, and then resumed shouting at Bastian.

())CRAYOLA))>

Zihark groaned. Volke chuckled and kissed his throat, hot and open-mouthed. Teeth scraped along his skin and fingers slid down his chest. The assassin’s lips followed his hands, mouth closing around a nipple. The swordmaster groaned again. Volke’s fingers slid to his belt and Zihark sat up slightly.

“What…?”

Volke slid his pants off. Gently he kissed Zihark’s stomach. Then he chuckled.

“Happy Steal Your Tentmate’s Pants Day.”

Promptly he was gone. Zihark blinked at the loss of heat. A chuckle came from the entrance to their tent. Zihark’s eyes widened.

“Volke, don’t you _dare_.” He stood and took two careful steps toward the assassin. Volke didn’t move and when Zihark was within arm’s reach he grabbed the swordsman and pulled him in, kissing him deeply. Zihark made a grab for his pants and the assassin twisted out of the way. He still had a chance to give Zihark’s rear an appreciative squeeze, and then he was gone.

Zihark stared at the entrance to their tent. Volke’s head came through after a moment.

“Catch me,” he purred, smirking.

“I have no _pants_ ,” Zihark hissed.

“Neither does Boyd.” Volke took a moment to pull his head out of the tent and look around. “Or Ulki, or Kieran.” Then he chuckled. “Come on. It’ll be _fun_.”

“How is this _fun_?”

“Because I’ll go into the woods and let you catch me and you can have the damned pants back but you won’t have time to put them on because I’ll be too busy kissing you until you can’t breathe and you’re in the state you were in a few moments ago.”

“And what state would that be?”

Volke grinned. “Breathless and begging to be fucked.”

Zihark turned bright red and promptly began chasing Volke.

())CRAYOLA))>

“Steal Your Tentmate’s Pants Day?”

Tormod shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s something I heard Boyd telling Mia about.” Then he grinned. “You like it?”

Sothe made a face. “Well, you just stole my pants straight off of my body without so much as a hint of warning.”

“And _you_ put up a fight.” The sage pouted. “Really, you shouldn’t do _that_. Makes things loads more complicated.” He tossed Sothe’s pants to the side and hooked his arms loosely around the thief’s neck.

Sothe cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Why would I want you to take my pants?”

“Because it’s a tradition celebrated by our commander and seeing as how we are in his camp we should abide by his tradition.” Then Tormod grinned. “And because you’ve been on the bottom both times we’ve done it and I do believe it’s my turn.”

Sothe snorted but quickly regained his composure. “So…so wait. You’re saying that ultimately, this tradition-holiday-whatever-it-is is nothing more than a ploy for you to get laid?”

“…will it work?”

Sothe smirked and in one fluid motion he had Tormod pinned to the ground. The redhead cocked an eyebrow and grinned. Sothe kissed him hard, tongue slipping into his mouth almost forcefully, delving in as deeply as he could. Tormod could hardly do anything other than groan into the thief’s mouth, arms still pinned by the other teen’s knees and his shorts becoming increasingly tight. Sothe chuckled.

“Three times in two days,” he murmured. “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re not complaining.” Tormod wriggled free and pulled Sothe close. “Be gentle.”

He got a smile in return. Light kisses were pressed to his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. “Always,” Sothe replied. Then his demeanour changed and he smirked. “Headband over your eyes.”

Tormod blinked. “Wh…what? Why?”

Sothe kissed him again. “You’ll like it. I promise.”

He obeyed. And Sothe was right; it was torture not being able to see what was happening and Tormod _loved_ it. Hands wandering over his body and his mouth following suit, sometimes predictable and sometimes catching him off-guard. Sothe had to have done this before because there was no _way_ that anyone could be this good at keeping him guessing without at least a _little_ experience. And eventually he was naked (was Sothe?) and the thief’s slick fingers were pressed against his entrance, slipping inside one at a time, moving against something that made Tormod’s toes curl. From here it was at least a little predictable; after all, they’d done it twice already. But Sothe’s mouth was still keeping him guessing. Wet kisses on his stomach and gentle bites on his nipples and finally Sothe was hovering overtop of him (probably), kissing him and removing his fingers. A moment later they were replaced by his cock. Tormod bit his bottom lip and Sothe’s forehead pressed against his, their lips barely touching as Sothe pushed in. The sage’s fingers dug into Sothe’s back with each tiny burst of pain and he moved accordingly, slowing when Tormod dug in too deeply. Finally the sage relaxed and Sothe kissed him, nudging his headband off to look at him in the eyes.

“I love you,” he breathed.

Tormod flushed. “I love you too. Ashera only knows how much.”

And then they were _moving_ and Sothe was gasping his name and stroking his cock and Tormod couldn’t help the groan that broke through his lips, couldn’t help digging his fingers into the thief’s shoulders and hissing Sothe’s name out as he pulled closer and closer to orgasm. Sothe was panting and sweat was beading on his brow and he kissed Tormod hard. The redhead gasped and bit his lower lip as he came and Sothe’s lips curved into a smirk. Moments later the thief was moaning his name and his nails were digging into Tormod’s shoulders and finally he slowed to a stop. He kissed Tormod and collapsed beside him. Tormod let the thief burrow into his neck and he buried his nose in the other teen’s hair. Steel-grass-dust-snow-sweat. The scents of love and lust and bliss.

It was the middle of the day but they ended up falling asleep anyways.

())CRAYOLA))>

When Tormod woke up, both Sothe and his pants were gone. A note scrawled on a spare bit of parchment mocked him and the tradition. Underneath were directions to where the thief was hiding.

Tormod tugged on his shirt and undergarments and set off.

())CRAYOLA))>

“What are you doing?”

Oscar chuckled. A bewildered Kieran looked up at him from where he was seated on the floor of their tent. Then he took two steps backward and was outside their tent, Kieran’s breeches clutched in one hand. He paused for a moment; this wouldn’t be any fun if Kieran didn’t come after him.

A moment later Kieran appeared, flushed but grinning. Oscar smirked and then took off at a full sprint, headed for the outskirts of camp. He waved at Boyd as he passed him and from somewhere above them he heard Bastian cheering him on. Volke hurried past in the opposite direction, Zihark following and shouting obscenities the entire way. The assassin tipped his free hand as they passed each other. Behind him, Oscar could hear Kieran gaining speed.

He chuckled and dodged around trees. They were out of camp now and he began slowing down. Kieran caught up to him and tackled him, sending them both flying. Oscar chuckled and blinked the dust from his eyes. Kieran rolled his eyes and grinned.

“What on _earth_ was that for?” the redhead asked.

“Steal Your Tentmate’s Pants Day,” Oscar replied. “Kiss me.”

Kieran obeyed. A brief press of lips. “And why would such a day exist?”

“To explain to the younger members of the mercenaries why Ike had Soren’s pants off. We celebrate it every spring.” Oscar gave Kieran a look. “Kiss me.”

It was longer this time. A brief tangle of tongues.

“And why would you take a platoon captain’s pants, knowing full well that he could catch you?”

“Because I have been insanely turned on for a good portion of the morning simply from the anticipation of taking your clothing and then having your chase me and then maybe having my way with you but the plan has gotten completely turned around and now I want nothing more than to have you kissing me and your fingers inside of me,” Oscar replied. “And with everyone running around camp like maniacs, it kills the mood.”

Kieran chuckled at that and kissed him. Oscar gave in immediately and the redhead slid his tongue into Oscar’s mouth, delving in as deeply as he could. The lance paladin groaned into Kieran’s mouth and the other man pulled away, grinning.

“So essentially today is all about everyone having as much mind-blowing sex as they can. Is that about right?”

Oscar paused for a moment. Kieran took the opportunity to open his collar and kiss his throat. “Not entirely. It’s about annoying whoever you happen to be sharing a room or tent with.” He let out a soft gasp as Kieran nipped his neck. “But having you with no pants on is just too good to resist.”

“You could have just asked.” Kieran’s fingers were undoing his belt now, tugging his pants down. Oscar groaned.

“It’s—ah!” And there were Kieran’s fingers, saliva-soaked and slipping inside him. The redhead cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

Oscar cursed under his breath. “Kieran…”

“Tell me why you didn’t ask.” Kieran was flushed but he continued rocking his fingers at a maddeningly slow pace. His lips were close enough to Oscar’s erection that he could feel the redhead’s breath against his cock every time the man exhaled.

“B-because—Kieran!—I haven’t—ah!—had a chance to do anything— _Kieran_ —anything like this with you.” He gasped for breath.

“But we’ve done _this_ before, haven’t we?” Kieran chuckled.

“Not after chasing—mm!—me pantsless— _Kierannn—_ through camp.” Oscar spread his legs just a bit more; Kieran spat onto his hand and then slid a third finger in.

“So you get off from other people seeing your lover as only you normally would?”

“A bit.” Oscar groaned and pushed the other man’s head down. “ _Please_ , Kieran.”

Kieran obliged. Oscar gasped, fingers clawing at the ground. The redhead’s tongue was skilled and his mouth was hot and tight and swallowing him whole, his fingers striking the right spot inside of him relentlessly. It was too damned _good_. He wasn’t going to finish this quickly, he _couldn’t_ —

But he did, biting his knuckle to stifle the cry of pleasure and arching upward as he did. Kieran hummed around his cock and swallowed, his fingers not slowing until Oscar begged him to stop because at this rate he would pass out from the sheer overload of it all. Kieran chuckled.

“So soon?” he asked. Oscar gave him a look and Kieran kissed him.

“Your fault,” Oscar panted.

“You ought to return the favour,” Kieran replied, tugging the green-haired man’s pants back up and re-lacing them as best he could. “Seeing as how I chased you halfway across camp for this.”

Oscar kissed him again, forcing his tongue into the other man’s mouth. Kieran fought back and Oscar caught the axe knight’s tongue between his teeth, relishing the response it drew from the other man. Finally they pulled away from each other, breathless. Kieran sighed and burrowed into Oscar’s neck.

“I’ll let you get away with not returning the favour just this _once_ ,” he said, smiling.

Oscar wrapped his arms tightly around Kieran. “I’ll pay it back twofold later,” he murmured. “I love you so much. Thank you.”

“I love you too,” Kieran murmured. Then he smiled and rolled onto his back. “Y’know, I’m kind of glad you did this.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because it’s nice out today and I’m spending time sitting around with you while you recover from a mind-numbing blowjob.”

Oscar chuckled. “Don’t let anyone else hear you talking like that. What will they say when they hear Royal Crimean Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran speaking quietly and about sex?”

Kieran swatted him. “Shut up.” He flushed. “This sort of talk is only for you.”

“I know.” Oscar yawned. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“Rhys…?” Ulki’s brow furrowed. “You’re never this…”

“Forward?” The bishop flushed but continued to smile. His fingers undid the hawk’s belt and he pressed kisses to Ulki’s stomach. “It’s a tradition.”

Ulki raised an eyebrow and entangled one hand in the other man’s copper hair. “A tradition?”

Rhys nodded. He slid the hawk’s pants off. “Two years ago, Ike started it to explain why he and Soren…well, you can imagine.” He chuckled and kissed his way up Ulki’s stomach and chest, the hawk’s pants clutched in one hand. After a brief moment of contemplation, his lips closed around one of Ulki’s nipples, drawing a sharp intake of breath. He didn’t linger though, instead leaning up to kiss the brunet on the lips. Their tongues briefly met. Then Rhys sat up and grinned. “Ulki?”

The hawk pulled in a shaky breath. “Yes?”

The bishop pulled away and ran like hell, shouting an “I love you” over his shoulder. He managed to get a reasonable lead, and his lungs weren’t burning today. That meant he could actually _run_. The giggling wouldn’t help though; he’d need somewhere to hide, and quick.

But Ulki found him within minutes, even though he was halfway out of camp and chuckling in a bush. The hawk had pressed against him from behind, lips brushing the nape of his neck and arms pulling him close. Gooseflesh crawled over his skin and hot breath puffed against his ear and the hawk’s hands snuck inside his robes. A soft chuckle came from the brunet.

“You could never hide from me,” he purred. Rhys turned just enough to kiss him.

“I would never want to, anyways,” he murmured. His cheeks heated as the hawk’s fingers slid over his hips. At this point he wasn’t sure if he was alright with it. They had slept together for months and finally they had broken down another wall, naked and holding each other, hands wandering just slightly. But having hands so close…

Ulki must have heard something because he froze for just a moment and then squeezed Rhys. The bishop could tell from the tone of his voice that he was smiling. “I love you. Pants-stealing idiot.”

“You’re the one who snores.”

They laughed at that. Rhys turned and Ulki pulled him close, kissing him. They fell to the ground, twisting at the last minute so the hawk’s wings wouldn’t be crushed. Ulki’s tongue was against his, dominating, teasing. Rhys kissed him back just as fervently, pressing himself close, fingers trailing down the hawk’s chest and flicking against a nipple. Finally he pulled away. Ulki gave him a questioning look. He was sure his face was flushed; sure that Ulki could hear his pulse racing. Ashera, this sort of thing shouldn’t be _difficult_. Then he bit his lip and slung one leg over Ulki, straddling his hips. The hawk froze and Rhys pulled in a deep breath. Ulki was _hard_ , pressed against him intimately with only two thin layers of fabric between them.

Ulki’s brow furrowed. “Are…”

Rhys nodded. “I…yes. Like this, yes.” He swallowed. “After all, I’ve got my pants and you’ve got your under—”

Ulki gently pulled him down and kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip gently, letting his tongue wander out and mingle with the bishop’s. Rhys let out a soft sigh of appreciation, all nervousness forgotten. It was _Ulki_ and Ulki had never once hurt him, not once pushed for anything physical after the revelation of his rape.

He pulled away when he realized he was crying. Ulki frowned and started sitting up but Rhys shook his head and smiled.

“You make me so _happy_ ,” he managed. “I love you so much I can’t believe it sometimes.” He chuckled and wiped his tears away with one hand. “I’ve never been this happy before, not with anyone and not because of anything. You’ve been so patient and so understanding about all of this and I keep wondering _why_ , and then I realize that it’s because you love me and don’t care that I’m terrified of having sex or being touched or doing anything that normal couples would have done by now.”

Ulki reached up and stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. “I love you,” he murmured. “It drives me mad that I can’t take things further with you and show you that sex is not something to be afraid of. But the thought of losing you is something that I cannot bear.” He smiled. “And you have been trying. You sleep with me every night as naked as the day you were born. A month ago I could hardly get your shirt off without you avoiding it.” Carefully he sat up and pressed his forehead to Rhys’. “You are remarkably brave. There is no shame in keeping your virginity.”

Rhys frowned. “I’m not a virgin.”

“You were forced and I could never say that you lost your virginity there. It should be something you lose to someone you love who doesn’t force it from you.” Ulki shrugged. “Perhaps I’m just old-fashioned.”

Rhys laughed at that. “You’re just _old_.”

The hawk smiled and kissed him gently. “Lose it to someone you love, to someone you could never regret losing it to.”

The bishop hardly dared let the words out but Ulki heard them anyways.

“I want to lose it to you,” he breathed. “Goddess, Ulki, there is no question in my mind about that. I love you too much to even think about letting anyone else be my first. Just not… _now_.”

“One day, then.” Ulki squeezed him. “I can wait.” Then he pressed a kiss to Rhys’ neck, sucking until it bruised. “And I promise that you will absolutely _love_ it.”

Rhys flushed but his lips curved upward anyways. He leaned back, exposing as much of his neck as he could for the hawk. Kisses slid over his skin, strong arms kept him from toppling over. “I love you,” he murmured.

Ulki pulled away just long enough to murmur the same words.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“You know, _technically_ , we could say that we celebrated.”

Ranulf chuckled. “Well, your pants are _somewhere_ , at any rate. And I suppose that I _am_ the one who took them.”

Janaff grinned and pulled Ranulf down. Their lips met and the hawk smirked, letting his tongue just barely brush against Ranulf’s bottom lip. The cat cocked an eyebrow. Janaff simply shrugged.

“Well, you did steal my pants.”

Another short burst of laughter. Ranulf kissed him, one hand moving to his hair and his lips gently massaging Janaff’s open, tongue tentatively slipping into the other man’s mouth. They’d kissed before. Brief, gentle touches. Kisses to foreheads, cheeks, lips, hands. But neither had taken the initiative, pushing things forward.

Until now.

However, Janaff mused, once your love interest stole your pants right off of you, that changed things. And Ranulf was _good_ , probing and teasing and holding him so, so gently. And his tongue was textured, different from anything he’d ever felt before. Amazing. The cat’s fingers were buried in his feathers and gently massaging and Janaff couldn’t help the moan that escaped. Ranulf purred, tongue sliding smoothly over Janaff’s. Then he pulled away, breathing just a touch more heavily than he had been before.

“You…I really, _really_ like you,” he murmured.

Janaff flushed. “I…how much is…really, _really_?”

Ranulf leaned down and gently kissed the scar on his cheek. “I think I might…Janaff…” he buried his face in the hawk’s neck. His skin was hot, his ears down.

Janaff pulled him close and smiled. “I think I could fall in love with you. I mean…I still…I still maybe like Shinon, just a little. But you…I like you so much more than him. I really, _really_ like you.”

Ranulf pulled away and looked him in the eyes. Janaff could pick out each individual speck in the cat’s eyes, every last drop of colour, light, shadow, the tiny dot of green in Ranulf’s violet eye. He leaned up and kissed Ranulf’s cheeks, directly underneath his eyes. The cat chuckled.

“Dammit. I’m falling in love with you, Janaff.” His cheeks were burning and his gaze wouldn’t hold steady at this point, flicking anywhere but Janaff’s face. 

“Even though I shed feathers on you for two weeks, and I’m annoying, and I talk in my sleep?”

Ranulf finally met his gaze. His eyes were playful again. “Even though you want to be a candy bar when you grow up.”

Janaff swatted him. “First you take my pants and then you mock my childhood dreams? I was _twenty_. Come now, you can’t expect me to be reasonable at that age. Look at Oscar! He’s a complete idiot!”

“No, he’s just got no idea how to behave around someone with more appendages than him.” Ranulf chuckled. “Be nice to the beorc; they’re trying very hard. And don’t think that I don’t know that you and Shinon go drinking whenever there’s an inn. We’re all warming up to each other.”

“They’re still all idiots,” Janaff replied. Then he chuckled. “Ah, well. That’s the way it goes sometimes.”

“Yes it is.” Ranulf nuzzled his cheek against the blonde’s neck. “Should we find your pants or just stay here? Because I don’t remember which way I threw them. I was too busy running.”

“You’d be angry if I took your pants too.” Janaff tried to be annoyed but it was too difficult at this point. Instead he slid his fingers into Ranulf’s hair and scratched him right behind the ears, right where he liked it. The cat purred.

“Not if you started doing this afterwards.”

“Petting you?”

A soft chuckle. “Letting me curl up on top of you after admitting that I’m falling in love with you and having you touch me like this, and having your heartbeat right there and your scent all around me.” Ranulf kissed his neck gently. “Happy Stupid Tradition Day.”

Janaff chuckled. “Happy Stupid Tradition Day.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

Initially, Shinon had been ready to flat-out punch Gatrie, straight in the teeth where the message would have gotten across.

Because it wasn’t bad enough that they’d been interrupted by an irate Soren and a rather startled-looking Mia and Boyd. And it certainly wasn’t bad enough that the creep had had the nerve to try and _lecture_ them, not when he and Ike kept the whole damned camp awake every night. Besides, now he knew a wide range of things about himself, such as how accurate he was with a longbow, how easy it was for him to ignore Gatrie even when the knight had a hand wrapped around his cock, and how insanely pleasing it had been to watch Soren getting carted off by the crazy man from the desert.

But this took the cake. Gatrie had adhered to tradition for two years in a row now, even though this year there was no reason for him to even _bother_ , because Rolf and Mist had been nowhere nearby, much less in their tent to play witness. And the whole damned camp was in a state of chaos with everyone taking things far too seriously and stealing the pants off of anyone who had managed to keep theirs on, so why would _they_ need to stick with this stupid tradition that stupid Ike had invented years ago?

Still, Gatrie had kissed him and pulled his clothing off and then abruptly _stopped_ , Shinon’s trousers in one hand and a look on his face that clearly suggested that no amount of threatening would make him _not_ leave their tent. And Shinon had cursed and made threats and called names and a thousand other things that would have worked under any other circumstances until finally his fist was clenched and swinging toward the blonde with full intention of breaking his whole goddessdamned face.

But it was Gatrie, and Gatrie knew him better than anyone. He’d tossed the pants out the tent flap and caught Shinon’s fist and lowered it, gently smiling the entire time. Lips brushed against his knuckles and it was the fucking _cheesiest_ thing that Gatrie had ever done for anyone, period, even the girls he’d hit on while in town. And Shinon had nearly melted then and there but he managed to remain composed even as Gatrie lay him down on their bedrolls, kissed his forehead and let his hair down. But when the knight’s lips met his neck, just behind his ear, Shinon had let out the softest of sounds and shut his eyes, fingers threading through the other man’s hair. Gatrie had hummed softly and pulled away, smiling. Then he had kissed Shinon, slowly and passionately, letting the sniper rid him of the rest of his clothing.

At that point, Shinon barely remembered why he had been angry.

And now, as Gatrie pressed kisses against his back and slid into him he couldn’t have cared less about anything but the feeling of the other man inside of him and the hand around his cock and the lips on his skin, the stubble scraping his back and the whispers of how damned good he was and how tight he was and how much Gatrie loved him.

Shinon still had a hard time saying it; since the first time he’d admitted his feelings it had been strange to tell Gatrie that he loved him. Not that he _didn’t_ ; he’d fallen so deeply in love that it was difficult to think of himself being in any other state. Rather, he didn’t feel the need to say it anymore, or at least, not as much.

But he breathed it as he came anyways. He’d never been a screamer and Gatrie didn’t care. The knight’s hips didn’t slow for five blissful seconds and then his fingers were tightening and his voice was catching in his throat and he let a long, muffled cry into Shinon’s back. Finally he slowed and stopped and they collapsed against each other, breathing heavily and pulling each other close and kissing.

Between kisses and caresses Gatrie told Shinon a thousand times that he loved him. The sniper smiled and felt heat rising to his cheeks but he blamed the sex and the weather. As they drifted closer and closer to unconsciousness Shinon found himself whispering just how much he loved Gatrie. Unintentionally, just as it had been the last few times he’d said it.

Gatrie had smiled and kissed him one last time before they both fell asleep.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Stefan cocked an eyebrow. “Steal Your _what_?”

Mordecai chuckled. “Steal Your Tentmate’s Pants Day.”

“And you’re celebrating it. A beorc’s tradition.”

The tiger shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Why?”

“Because of this.” Mordecai leaned down and kissed Stefan’s bare hip. “Although if I had known that you wore nothing underneath your pants, I would not have taken them.”

“I should hope not.” Stefan chuckled and reached down, gently stroking Mordecai’s hair. “Though I’m sure that this would have happened sooner or later.”

“A strange tradition?”

“You undressing me.” The worry-rat gnawed at his stomach again. “Well…perhaps not.” He paused. “Are you sure?”

Mordecai leaned up and kissed his lips gently. “Yes. Why do you worry so much?”

Stefan looked away. “Because I have lived a lifetime of pain. Nobody touches a Branded, much less kisses them, or holds them all night, or comforts them when they wake up screaming from a nightmare.” He sat up and pulled his knees to his chest. “And nobody would ever want to be with one of us intimately.”

Mordecai’s arms wrapped around him and the tiger’s lips met his bare shoulder. “I would.”

Stefan’s breath caught in his throat. “You…you do know…what I meant, right?”

A nod. “Sex.” A soft chuckle. “With you.” Gentle kisses crept up his shoulder, across his neck. “I would like to. One day. If you are interested and completely sure.”

“You would lose your ability to transform.”

“No.”

 _That_ startled him. Stefan pulled away and turned to look Mordecai in the eye. The tiger chuckled and he reached out, smoothing the swordsman’s brow. “You will get wrinkles when you hit one hundred if you carry that look so often.”

“What do you mean? ‘You won’t lose your ability.’ That’s unheard of. Every laguz who is with a human loses their ability to transform.”

“I know others who have been with beorc. Beorc of the same sex.” Mordecai shrugged and lay down, pulling Stefan with him. “We lose our ability if there is a child involved. Or at least, that is what they say.”

Stefan was silent. He turned to face Mordecai and curled up in the tiger’s arms, clinging almost desperately to the sliver of hope. “So…could we…?”

Mordecai kissed the top of his head. “Yes. If it is what you truly want.”

His face was burning. He didn’t look up. “I want to. But I…”

“You are afraid.” The laguz said it so simply that Stefan nearly laughed. But it was the truth. Mordecai had started to be able to read him more and more lately. Better than anyone had the right to.

“I’m afraid.” He inhaled deeply. Leaves-wood-fur-campfire-sweat. It settled the knot in the pit of his stomach somewhat. “I don’t know what to do with myself because you just don’t _care_ what I am and I’ve never had anyone do that for me before. And…if we ended up having sex then I don’t know what I would do. I would probably panic without reason, or start thinking about my childhood, or—”

“Don’t cry.”

Stefan looked up. Tears spilled over and he wiped them away, horrified. He simply _didn’t_ cry; that was something he had left behind when he’d left his family. But the more he tried to stop the worse it became until his breath was choked and his body trembling. Mordecai held him and kissed him and didn’t say a word until Stefan explained briefly, explained his abusive mother and his father who drank too much and how he had been beaten and lit on fire and _raped_ , fucking raped so many times he had tried to end his life right then and there at eleven years old.

Mordecai’s tail lashed when he heard that and he lifted Stefan’s wrist, eyeing the scar. Then he kissed it, tongue gently flickering across Stefan’s pulse.

“I am glad that it did not work. It would be such a loss if I had never met you.”

“Few people would agree with you on that one.” Stefan sniffled and let a smile break onto his face. “Thank you.” He paused. “Could…could we?”

Mordecai shook his head. “Not until you have your head sorted out. You are confused right now. It would be best if we waited.”

“I don’t want to. I want you right fucking now, I want us to be connected that deeply and damn the consequences.”

“And what will happen if it upsets you?” Mordecai kissed him gently. “I do not want you upset. I want you to take time and think and…feel right about doing it. I can wait.”

“I do feel right.”

“If you felt right you would not be shaking and you would not look like you had just eaten Mist’s meatloaf.”

He couldn’t help laughing at that. Mordecai squeezed him and kissed him. Stefan slowly undressed him. This would be the first time that they had seen each other naked. Or, at least, naked in so intimate a setting. A tent was different from a river where six other people were bathing at the same time.

Mordecai frowned. “We should not—”

Stefan nodded. “I simply…want you to be in the same state I am. We can do _that_ , yes?”

“Yes.” Mordecai kissed his forehead and pulled him close. “I love you.”

Skin against skin. Foreheads together and arms around each other and legs entangled, hearts beating against one another. Hips against hips. And they were touching _there_ as well, both of them half-hard but refusing to ruin the moment and take things further. Mordecai kissed him again and again on whatever skin he could reach. Stefan smiled.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “I love you too.”

A half-smirk from his companion. “Are you sure?”

He laughed. Gentle mockery of his own worry.

“Yes.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

It had been annoying for perhaps three full seconds.

Reyson supposed it was Naesala’s own fault for getting himself into this mess, for doing something that all the beorc were doing and having the nerve to laugh about it. But Tibarn hadn’t _needed_ to punish him, not _really_ , because it had only been Reyson’s pants and nobody had gotten hurt.

Although it wasn’t really punishment if Naesala was enjoying it.

Reyson had known that the raven enjoyed pain; it was the reason that he’d bitten him and smacked him with his belt more than once. Tibarn must have known as well because he was grinning the entire time and taking out what had to have been a half-century’s worth of frustration on the crow king. And Naesala was enjoying it. He likely would have been begging for more if he hadn’t been gagged. And tied up; Tibarn had stripped him down and tied his wrists together behind his back, tied his legs, tied his wings until the king could hardly do more than struggle weakly against his bonds. Where he’d gotten the rope, Reyson couldn’t even imagine. And _then_ Tibarn had bent Naesala over their bed and taken his belt to the other man, whipping his thighs and buttocks and ignoring every muffled cry that came, completely ignoring the crow’s erection and instead beating down relentlessly. Naesala looked so goddessdamned _helpless_ that Reyson hadn’t been able to resist and sauntered over, sitting next to the crow’s head.

“Perhaps you’ll think twice about this sort of thing next time?” He chuckled when Naesala glared. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You _like_ this and we all know it.” Then he tugged off the cloth tied around Naesala’s mouth. What followed was a string of curses directed at Tibarn, who raised an eyebrow and flung his belt to the side.

“Was that an insult to my mother?” His eyes were glittering now and he tugged his pants down. Reyson chuckled; the hawk was just as aroused as the raven. Naesala smirked.

“Your mother was a snake and your father a hummingbird. _Fuck me, Tibarn._ ”

Tibarn was more than happy to oblige. Naesala cringed as the other man pushed in and Reyson leaned down, pressing his lips against the other man’s brow. The blue-haired man’s lips curved into a smile and he lifted his head just enough to kiss Reyson, hard and hot, just as he always did. Reyson moaned and at that point he couldn’t bear it anymore; he absolutely _needed_ Naesala inside of him. In between kisses he managed to convey his need to Tibarn and the hawk sighed, untying Naesala.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” Tibarn groaned, pulling out and throwing a surprised Naesala onto their bed.

Naesala cursed as he landed on his hands and knees but Reyson caught his mouth quickly enough, slipping out of his clothing as quickly as was physically possible. Naesala kissed him and murmured for him to get on his hands and knees and Reyson obeyed, groaning when he felt slick fingers against his entrance. One finger, two, then three, and then Naesala’s hands were gripping his hips. He murmured an apology for any pain he might cause and then his fingers were replaced by his cock, Tibarn slowing just enough to let Reyson adjust.

Then it was all cursing and begging and the feeling of Naesala pounding into him and Tibarn pounding into _him_. Reyson was helpless against them, braced on his knees and elbows with Naesala’s lips pressing kisses between his wings and one of the king’s hands around his cock. Then Naesala cursed loudly, thrusting into him hard and fast and so damned _deep_. His hand froze for just a moment as he came and then he resumed motion just as quickly. Behind him, Tibarn let out a series of soft groans and Reyson felt the sheer pleasure emanating off of both of them, overwhelming him and completely overriding any self control he had left. He came hard enough for all three of them, screaming Naesala’s name and not caring who heard. The hawk groaned again and Naesala let out a muffled sound of pleasure; Reyson was sure he’d accidentally channelled some of his pleasure back into them. Somehow. It wasn’t worth thinking about now. Naesala collapsed against him and they both hit the cot, flushed and breathing heavily. The crow moved his hair out of the way and kissed the nape of his neck.

“I love you,” he breathed. Reyson caught his hand and squeezed.

“I love you too.”

Tibarn chuckled. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

Reyson smiled. Tibarn was completely naked now and the hawk squeezed in beside Reyson, wrapping his arms around the both of them. Naesala snorted.

“Only sometimes. The rest of the time you’re something one would find on the underside of his boot.”

Tibarn started to say something but Reyson kissed him. The hawk made an annoyed sound but kissed him back. Naesala’s free hand went from Reyson’s chest to Tibarn’s, stroking the hard muscle there. Tibarn tugged Naesala’s hair loose and buried his fingers in the strands, pulling them all ever closer to each other.

“I love you both,” Reyson murmured. He smiled; Naesala and Tibarn had leaned over him to kiss briefly. Naesala was the first to speak.

“I’m still the favourite, right?”

“Yes,” Tibarn replied. “I could never do that to Reyson without splitting him in two.” They kissed again. “Now shut up. Reyson’s trying to sleep.”

“It’s mid-afternoon. I’m fine.” Reyson smiled when Tibarn kissed his brow.

“It’s past dinnertime and Ike plans to march tomorrow. The hawks are taking Castle Nados and the rest of the army is taking Fort Pinell. I imagine that Ike will want you there.”

“Why hasn’t he told anyone of this?”

Tibarn chuckled. “Because he plans to teach everyone a lesson and take those who are not staying up late having incredible amounts of sex. So get some rest and surprise him; I’d be amazed if the whole camp _didn’t_ hear you screaming Naesala’s name.”

Reyson flushed at that and Naesala murmured something into his neck. Tibarn yawned.

Even though the shouting about pants lasted until midnight, they slept straight through it.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“If you hate me so much, then why do you share a tent with me?”

“I’ve no choice.”

Haar snorted. “Ike is completely willing to listen about tent reassignments; that’s the reason that everyone is partnered with whomever it is they’re interested it and why Reyson and Tibarn and King Kilvas are sharing a tent. If you hate me so much then take your damned pants and get a new roommate.”

Geoffrey’s eyes hardened. “If I weren’t sure that Ike was _busy_ at the moment I would be at his tent right now.”

“Sure you would. And what would you do about that bite on your neck?”

The paladin flushed. “This region of Crimea has large mosquitoes.”

Haar grinned. “Wyvern-riding, axe-wielding, missing-an-eye mosquitoes.”

A small smile threatened Geoffrey’s lips. He held it back. “Yes.”

“With teeth.”

He couldn’t hold back this time and smiled. “Yes.”

Haar stretched and let his arm fall around the paladin. “For someone who hates me so much, you’re awfully willing.”

“Give me my pants back.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Just listen to what you’ve caused.”

The words came from a rather pissed-off Soren. Ike shrugged and tugged his shirt off.

“It’s not entirely my fault.”

“Oh?” Soren raised an eyebrow and turned to face him. He ignored the view of a half-naked Ike sprawled on their bed. “And why is that?”

Ike grinned and propped himself up on his elbows. Soren swallowed and looked the commander in the eye. Damn those abs.

“Because on that day you weren’t complaining about your pants coming off. In fact, you had encouraged it not a minute before. If you had said no, then I would have stopped and this whole tradition could have been avoided.”

Soren sighed. Ike _technically_ had a point there. “I suppose.” His eyes flickered down to Ike’s stomach again and then back up. Ike grinned knowingly and stretched, arching upward. Soren couldn’t take it at that point and pounced on him, fingers tracing hard muscle and lips on Ike’s. Ike slid his robes off and pulled him close. Soren waited for the inevitable, because it was Stupid Tradition Day and it was _Ike_. But nothing came. Ike kissed his Brand and let his lips rest there, arms around him and legs entangled.

“I love you,” Ike breathed. “I will always, _always_ love you.”

“Until the seas swallow Tellius?” Soren smiled. It felt better now. Forever didn’t seem so unreasonable anymore, because Ike was stubborn and would fight to stay next to him for his whole life. He’d made that clear.

Ike chuckled. “Well, you’re practically my wife anyways.”

Soren swatted him and made a face but they ended up laughing about it. He fell asleep first for the first time in a long time, Ike rubbing gentle circles into his back and whispering sweet nothings until he drifted off.


	24. In which something significant happens

“Wake up.”

Ike muttered something incomprehensible in his sleep and burrowed further into Soren’s bare chest. Soren was already awake and gently squeezed him. Someone nearby giggled.

“Ike. Wake up.”

Still nothing. Soren frowned when he heard a sigh. Someone was in their room, heading toward their bed. The blankets were pulled to their waists and cool air rushed to meet their bare skin. Ike stirred but didn’t wake. Soren nearly sat up but stopped; that would disturb Ike. And the commander had been up half the night worrying. His lower lip had started bleeding from how much he’d chewed it. The only reason he had fallen asleep in the end was because Soren had pointed out that Fort Pinell had been taken and they’d all eaten properly for once and if they could take the more powerful of two strongholds on mostly-empty stomachs then how could they _not_ take Castle Nados? And Ike had sighed his agreement and finally collapsed into bed, burying his face in Soren’s neck and falling asleep.

“What do you _need_?” Soren hissed.

Mist didn’t back down and glared right back at him. She and her brother had the same glare. It was eerie. “I need Ike to get to breakfast so he can get a decent meal before the battle today.” She sighed and her expression softened. “He’s bound to have worried himself sick last night. I know that he’ll do just fine today but he doesn’t seem to know that.”

“It’s only natural, isn’t it? The anticipation of revenge is more than enough to worry someone.”

Mist sat down next to Soren. “I know. But…last night he told me that…he was going to kill the Black Knight today. That he wouldn’t let anyone else do it in his stead. And I’m worried that—”

“He’ll do something stupid.”

Mist nodded and smiled. “You love him as much as I do, don’t you?”

“Mm.”

She smiled. “Take care of him, then. With me, I mean. Let’s keep him from doing anything stupid.”

“I make no promises.” Soren couldn’t help smiling, though. Carefully he pulled away from Ike and sat up. “You…is there anything you want to know? About us?”

“How much do you love him?”

Soren felt heat rising to his face. “More than anything. There is not a thing I wouldn’t do for Ike.”

“Would you stay with him forever if you could? Because it’s hard to imagine things around here any other way.”

“Absolutely. Without a shadow of a doubt the answer to that is yes. Any other questions?”

“Not really. You’re serious about each other and that’s what’s really important in a relationship, I think. You’ve fought and argued and I don’t know _what_ happened in Begnion but you didn’t talk to each other for a month. But everything is alright now. Ike and I talked for a while last night after the war council. He’s really, really in love with you.” She smiled. “He told me everything else I wanted to know. So don’t worry about it, okay?”

Soren nodded. “I’ll get him up. Give us a quarter of a mark at the most.”

Mist smiled and stood up. “Just so you know, one of your belts is in the hallway.”  

“Leave.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

“She’s grown up too fast.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow and thanked Muston as the man handed him a new bow and arrows. Then he turned to Ike, confused.

“Who has?” he asked.

The commander sighed. “Mist.”

“I…I see?”

Ike wandered over to Henry and ran his fingers through the horse’s mane. “It’s…she’s just turned thirteen. And yet, she’s killed. She’s seen and heard countless deaths and taken so, so many lives. No thirteen-year-old girl should know what it’s like to kill a man. She knows more than I did at that age. About death and life and just…everything.”

Oscar nodded and strapped his lance to the horse. “And what brought this on?”

“She came in this morning. I was half-asleep and Soren dealt with her. But we were…mostly naked. She and Soren chatted for a bit and then she left. There was nothing strange about it. I thought that there would be. Or that maybe there _should_ be. But she acted like it was nothing.”

Oscar smiled and placed his hands on Ike’s shoulders. “She can’t stay innocent forever. She knows that you’re with Soren and she knows that the two of you have a sex life. She understands that real life is terrible sometimes. That good people become orphans for no reason other than that horrible things happen sometimes, or that parents can turn on their children just because something doesn’t go according to plan. And she knows that happy endings simply don’t happen to most people. That sometimes, in order for something good to happen, a lot of people need to die.”

Ike frowned. “How do you know exactly what I’m thinking? You’re not a heron, are you?”

Oscar chuckled. “I’m the oldest of three. We dealt with a lot of shit growing up. My mother had a kitchen accident and Boyd’s mother was murdered and Rolf’s mother just left us. We saw skirmishes between Daein and Crimea and we’ve all trained with weapons and learned to kill other men and women who would do the same if given the chance. It’s hard. You wake up one morning and wonder exactly when they grew up and where you were the entire time.”

“That’s…that’s exactly it.” Ike sighed again. “So what advice can you give me?”

“Don’t worry about it. Spend time with her when she needs it and talk to her. It’s all part of growing up.”

Silence for a moment. Then Ike smiled. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Ike?”

The commander grunted as he drove his sword through a sage. Blood splattered his face and he grimaced as he wiped it off. He turned to his sister. She was in a condition similar to his: coated in the blood of dozens of men as well as her own, bruises and scrapes on her arms. She was breathing heavily and one of her eyes was starting to bruise.

“Where’s your horse gotten to?” Ike asked, digging through his pouches and withdrawing a vulnerary. Mist downed the herbs and sighed heavily.

“He’s hurt. Oscar’s taking care of him,” she replied. “Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?”

He held out his arms and Mist dove into them. Ike buried his face in her hair and sighed. “I’m fine. Frustrated, maybe. There’s been no sign of the Black Knight. It’s worrisome.”

“He’ll show. We’ve only taken this one corridor; eventually we’ll find him. And if not, we’ll hunt him down.” Mist squeezed him. “You’ve got the sword, right?”

“Yes. I will avenge Father today.”

“And you’re going to—”

“Yes.”

She pulled away and smiled broadly. “I’m proud of you, you know. I don’t think I’ve told you yet. But you’re leading an army and you taught me swordplay in your spare time and you’ve kept everything together so well. You’re doing a good job. I’ve got no doubt that you’ll kill the Black Knight.”

“Thank you.” His lips met her forehead. “You’re the best encouragement anyone could ask for.”

She smiled. “I’m your sister. I have to be.”

He shuffled awkwardly. “I…you…you know.”

A giggle. “I love you too, Brother.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

There was only one place left that the knight could be hiding. And the doors had been so well-guarded that there really wasn’t any question left. Soren hadn’t said anything. He had looked at Ike and nodded. There was no question about it. The Black Knight was mere steps away, awaiting death.

Ike’s hand caught Soren’s as he addressed the company.

“The one I seek is behind these doors. Don’t follow me. I’m going in alone.”

Soft murmurs. Soren squeezed.

“I’m going with you.”

Ike shook his head and turned, placing his hands on Soren’s shoulders. “No. Stay here. I can’t risk you getting hurt.”

“Don’t say that!” the sage shouted. “I’ll have none of it! I’m going in there with you whether you want me to or nnn…”

Total silence. Ike was kissing him in front of _everyone_ , strong arms threatening to crush him. Soren pulled him ever closer, kissing him as deeply as he could, savouring what could, potentially, be his last taste of the other man. Finally Ike pulled away. Soren buried his face in the other man’s chest.

“I need to go in with you,” he whispered. “I can’t risk losing you like this.”

“You won’t lose me,” Ike replied. He squeezed and dropped to one knee. “Not ever. I’m doing this for my father and my sister and for us. I will win, Soren. I love you too much to leave you, ever. I know I’ve told you but it just didn’t feel right until a few nights ago when I decided exactly what I was going to ask you.” He reached into a pouch and pulled out a small gold band. Soren flushed; this simply didn’t _happen_.

“Ike—”

“Soren, will you marry me?”

Soft gasps. Somewhere, Shinon snorted. Someone smacked him.

Soren bit his bottom lip. This couldn’t possibly be real. Men couldn’t get married to each other; there weren’t bishops who would perform ceremonies like this. Especially not for an untouchable.

His eyes flickered over to Rhys’. The auburn-haired man smiled and nodded.

He looked at Stefan. The swordmaster was biting his bottom lip, half-smiling and nodding.

And there was Ike, looking up at him with the ring still held in his hand. Smiling crookedly and waiting. Ike, who had never cared about his bloodline and had held him every night for two years, who had fought beside him and protected him and was able to read him like an open book, who had kissed him and touched him and made love to him countless times, promising him forever.

Soren broke into a smile and bit back tears.

“Yes.”

Ike stood and kissed him, slipping the ring on his finger. Behind them, people were cheering and murmuring. It didn’t matter; Ike was holding him and kissing him and whispering an apology. Soren’s brow furrowed but he didn’t have time to think about it. His vision was darkening. Ike smiled gently.

“I’ll see you when you wake up,” he murmured. “I love you, Soren.”

He heard something about a Sleep staff and Ike was handing him off to Stefan. Footsteps and then a closing door. The swordmaster pulled him close and whispered his congratulations, telling him how lucky he was and that it was a gorgeous ring and not to worry, that Ike would be out in minutes and then they could clear out the remaining soldiers and bunk down for the night.

The exhaustion crept in like fog. Stefan was warm and held him almost perfectly and Soren settled against the other man, briefly taking time to curse Ike for making Rhys use a damned _Sleep_ on him and then to beg Ashera for her protection.

As Stefan kept whispering to him, he passed out.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Turn and face me, Black Knight.”

The knight let out a soft sound. What might have been a chuckle. “Hmph. I’ve been waiting for you, child.”

He took a step forward. Ike caught a glimpse of pink hair and dark skin and splattered crimson. His brow furrowed.

“Did you kill that girl?” His hand gripped the hilt of his sword.

“Despite my promise, the blow was not clean. She lives.”

“I’ll take her,” Ike growled.

“You’ll have to do so by force. You brought the sword Ragnell, did you not?”

“It’s right here. If using it is the only condition I need to fulfill to defeat you, I will not hesitate!” Both hands were gripping Ragnell now and Ike slid into a ready stance. The knight pulled Alondite smoothly from its sheath.

“It appears you’ve grown smarter.” Another chuckle. “Good. There is no challenge in killing a fool. Shall we begin?”

Ike tensed and the Black Knight took a step forward but the doors clattered open, catching their attention. Mist burst through, sword clutched in one hand and a staff in the other. Ike’s heart sank. Not his sister. Not _now_.

“Mist! No! Stay back!”

She glared at him. Soren had mentioned that morning that they had the same angry look and he saw it now. Piercing blue eyes narrowed in a look that clearly stated that she would not take any of his shit. Just like his mother had been. Her look turned on the knight.

“I may not be able to kill you but at the very least I can protect my brother. You will not leave this place alive.”

“The daughter as well? Good. I can pull out the entire family tree by the root.”

The Black Knight charged. Ike’s boot caught Mist in the stomach and he shoved her out of the way. He was off balance but his blade met Alondite. Sparks flew. They were close together and Ike saw the knight’s lips twist into a smirk through his helmet. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought they looked familiar.

“What an odd fate. This will be the third time I have defeated you. The first in the forest of Gallia. The second at Delbray.”

“We have met twice and I have lost twice.” Ike spun out of the way and aimed for the straps binding the knight’s armour. Ragnell nicked one, tearing the leather. Barely. “There is no shame in admitting defeat. This time will be different. My fighting skills were given to me by my father.” Another quick nick to the leather. It snapped and the knight’s shoulder plate loosened just slightly. “If I stay true to what he has taught me I cannot lose.”

“Did you never think that using the technique that allowed for your father’s death would be futile?” Alondite bit into Ike’s shoulder but Mist was ready and healed him immediately. He spun and aimed directly for the knight’s armour. It dented. A structural weakness.

“My father disabled his stronger arm. Had he not done so, he would not have lost to the likes of you.”

“You think so? Come, son of Gawain. Let us test your stronger arm. Show me your strength.”

No more words. Metal clashed and blood flew. Armour was loosened. Reinforcements appeared but Mist cut them down, hell-bent on protecting her brother. Ragnell’s magic managed to heal Ike when Mist couldn’t, but Alondite did the same for the knight. Still, Ike had Aether hidden in his sleeve. He’d worked for weeks to perfect it. He’d let a sloppy version show in Delbray but Stefan had helped him to perfect it. It was the ideal killing blow now.

An opening. The Black Knight was a strong fighter but his style didn’t change, didn’t vary. It became predictable at times. Sparring with Stefan had given him enough experience with recognizing unvarying styles; the swordmaster had taught him about those who were given military training and stuck to the same few ideas when they fought. The knight was fantastic but he was slower and didn’t vary.

Ike moved back quickly and the Black Knight over-swung. The opening was widened, the gap in his armour clear, the dent a good back-up in case this didn’t work. It would, though. Ike just _knew_. He tossed Ragnell in the air. Less weight meant more speed and he darted forward. The Black Knight faltered. Clearly he hadn’t ever seen anything like this before. If this worked, he would be killed. If not, Ike would lose his hand. He jumped and reached out and caught the handle. The light was perfect and he caught the knight’s eyes. Shock and awe and the knowledge that he would die.

The blade cut deeply, right in the gap where the armour was loose. Tendons and nerves snapped under his blade and the armour split as he came down. Blood splashed Ike’s face, flecking into his eyes and mouth. He spat as he landed. Alondite clattered to the ground and the knight fell.

“You…you have grown far stronger. I…commend you.”

A Heal spell enveloped him shortly before Mist tackled him and the light healed them both. Her heart was pounding against his and he pulled her close. She was crying and laughing at the same time, forehead against his. He kissed her cheeks and chuckled softly.

“I love you,” he breathed. “Thank you for being here.”

Mist squeezed him. “What would you do without me?”

“I wouldn’t be getting married.” He chuckled. “Thank you for talking to Soren this morning, too. I couldn’t have done this if I hadn’t heard him tell you that he would be with me forever.”

“Well, if I ever propose to anyone, you have to promise to do the same for me.” Mist giggled.

“Of course.” Ike released her and looked behind the corpse. “That girl…I know she’s alive. Heal her wound and let’s get out of here, alright?”

She nodded and hurried over. Ike ran a hand through his hair and sheathed Ragnell.

The room began to shake. He frowned. “Mist! Be careful!”

The door clattered open and he turned. Nasir stood there, eyes blazing.

“The castle is collapsing,” he murmured as he brushed past Ike. “We need to get out immediately.” He picked up Ena and cradled her against his chest. His lips fell to her brow and his eyes caught Mist’s. She smiled gently and his lips curved upward as well. Then they ran, Mist catching Ike’s hand as they sprinted. Nasir was moving faster than they were and he was carrying Ena. Stones fell behind them and he dragged Mist forward.

They managed an escape. Barely. Ike collapsed as soon as they were a safe distance away and Mist fell next to him, breathing heavily. He looked around for Soren and saw him gathered in Stefan’s arms, just waking up. Their eyes met briefly and he willed himself back up, stumbling over. Stefan handed the sage over and Ike pulled him close, pressing his lips to Soren’s brand.

“Idiot,” Soren murmured. He blinked a few times. “Don’t ever do that again. A Sleep staff? Really?”

Ike chuckled. “I didn’t want to risk you. I love you so, so much.” He felt tears in his eyes. “Will you still marry an idiot?”

“Yes. Absolutely, without any doubt.”

Ike kissed him. His hand caught Soren’s and he smoothed his thumb over the ring. Then the commander pulled away.

“Have you looked at it?”

Soren shook his head and Ike slid the ring off. Then his breath caught in his throat. Again with Ike being too cheesy, or romantic, or whatever he wanted to call it. Ike chuckled and kissed his cheek.

Red and blue. A tiny ruby nestled next to a tiny sapphire. The colour of their eyes. Soren bit his lip.

“How much—”

“I couldn’t put a price on how much I love you.” Ike chuckled. “Now, then. What should mine look like?”

Soren kissed him. “The same. Gold and ruby and sapphire.”

“Something like this?”

Ike slid a hand into one of his pouches. The ring he withdrew was the same as Soren’s. He handed it to the sage and Soren lightly swatted him. They laughed softly. Soren peeled off Ike’s gauntlets and kissed his fingers.

“Ike.” He hesitated.

Ike smiled. “Soren.”

“Ike.”

“Soren.”

“Ike.” Soren gently kissed him. “Ike, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

Soren slid the ring onto his finger. “I love you. I will always love you.”

Ike smiled. Soren didn’t say these sorts of things, ever. “I love you too, Soren.” He flushed. “Soren.”

“Ike.”

He nearly burst out laughing at that. “Soren. Make love to me.”

“I hardly think the rest of the army would appreciate that. It’s bad enough that we’re being like this in front of people.” Soren kissed him. “When we get back to camp.”

“More than once.”

“All night, if you like.”

“I love you, Soren.”

Soren kissed him again. “I love you too, Ike.”


	25. In which Rhys is brave

Oscar had hardly gotten into his tent before Kieran tackled him from behind, laughing and squeezing him and kissing whatever skin he could reach. The lance paladin chuckled as Kieran slid his shirt off.

“You’re in a good mood.”

Kieran rolled over and held an arm out, letting Oscar settle against him. “We’ve nearly won back our homeland! Why would anyone be in any other mood?”

“And in a few days, Crimea will be ours again. We’re so close I can taste it.” Oscar chuckled as Kieran kissed him. “And you.” Another kiss. “I love you, Kieran.”

The redhead smiled and brushed his lips against the other man’s temple. “I love you too, Oscar.” A pause. “But…what about…you know?”

Their tent was silent. Oscar slid his fingers into Kieran’s hair and massaged his scalp gently.

“I love you, Oscar. And I’m wondering…exactly what we’re going to do once this is all over.” Kieran sighed. “I don’t want to leave you. But I’m with the Royal Knights and you’re a mercenary. We’re…not close. Assuming that you end up setting up the company in the same region as before. Things dropped off once before and I don’t want to see them drop again. But I…we…”

“We can’t abandon our posts,” Oscar murmured. “As much as we want this, we can’t just…up and leave.”

Silence again. Kieran finally broke it, face flushed. “Rival. Does your company need another paladin?”

Oscar blinked. Then he smiled and kissed the other man. “Kieran. I love you. More than anything else in the world. But you shouldn’t forfeit your job for my sake.” He looked away. “I…I’m considering rejoining the Knights once Rolf is a bit older. Maybe in two or three years.”

Kieran froze. His hands had been trailing up Oscar’s back, pulling him close. Now they sat on his skin, tense and just barely trembling. His eyes were fierce.

“Don’t kid me,” he growled. “It’s a cruel thing to do to someone.”

He was tearing up. Oscar leaned down and pressed their lips together. “I’m completely serious. Even before we rescued you I was considering rejoining. Rolf and Boyd are older now and don’t need me as much as they did. In another two years Rolf will be turning fifteen and Boyd will be twenty.” He shrugged. “And since we rescued you I have gotten more and more sure that this is the right thing to do. I need to be with you, Kieran. When I heard of the war you were the first thing I thought about. ‘Is Kieran alive?’ Even though I hadn’t seen you for nearly two years. And I wondered if things would have been different between us if we’d admitted our feelings earlier, or if I hadn’t left. Maybe we would be as close as Ike and Soren are now.” He flushed. “If we could find a bishop then maybe we would—”

Kieran kissed him, just as shyly as he had the first time all those years ago in the safety of their room. Oscar reached up and ran his knuckles across the cool metal of the chain that rested on Kieran’s neck.

“You know,” he murmured, “I bought this with the hopes that you’d remember me. Even if it was just one night of holding each other and kissing.” He chuckled. “You certainly haven’t forgotten the rivalry business. Even though it’s fairly ridiculous. Two years we go without each other and look what happens.”

Kieran chuckled softly. “We’re over, aren’t we? I spent so long trying to forget how hard I’d fallen for you and then you give me this the morning you leave. And now it’s happening again, only this time I’ve held you and kissed you and touched you and bonded with you and that makes this a thousand times worse.” Oscar’s hands gently slid over his chest and his breath caught in his throat. “I can’t be away from you. I’m not saying that we’ll get m-married.” Now Oscar had leaned up and was gently kissing the side of his neck. “B-but I want you to be with me. For everything. You’re my first rival and the first person I’ve ever really kissed and the first person I’ve ever slept with and I would…I…” He was blushing furiously now. “Oscar…I want…Oscar…”

Oscar pulled him close and kissed him. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“Oscar…” He was speechless at this point. It was too damned embarrassing to ask. Oscar was good at these things, demanding kisses and touches and sexual acts. Kieran couldn’t bring himself to say it.

The green-haired man kissed him again. “Kieran. If you’re suggesting what I think you are, then yes. Of course. I would love to.” Then he smirked and licked a slow, torturous line up the redhead’s neck, stopping at his ear and sucking the lobe gently. “But you’ve got to ask first.”

“I…” This wasn’t _reasonable_. Oscar knew that he had a hard time asking for these things. He felt the other man’s lips brush against the skin below his ear and bit his lip.

“Go on,” Oscar breathed. “It’s not that hard.” He paused and his hand slid downward, squeezing Kieran’s cock through his breeches. “Well,” he chuckled, “I suppose it _is_. But you won’t be doing anything with it until you ask.”

Pleasure jolted through him with another squeeze followed shortly by a knot in the pit of his stomach. He was really going to have to ask, wasn’t he? But the words wouldn’t form, not even remotely. Unfair play.

Oscar continued. Kieran was sure that he was smirking. “Come, now. It’s not that difficult. And it’s just _me_.” His voice dropped an octave and his tone changed considerably. “Beg for it. You know you want to fuck me, have me underneath you and screaming your name. You’ve had your fingers inside of me a thousand times and we both know how much you’d love for it to be your cock instead. And you know that _I_ would love it, having you pounding into me even after I’m finished and begging you to stop. But what would I be able to do about it? You’d have me completely pinned.”

Downright unfair. Kieran bit his lip. Oscar gave a low chuckle and slid downward, intentionally grinding against him. His tongue met a nipple and his fingers met the other, Kieran’s cock forgotten. He was gentle for a moment, and then he bit down sharply. Kieran let out a half-muffled gasp and Oscar looked up at him.

“Or perhaps,” he continued, “it’s not like that at all. Maybe you secretly want to bend over and let me have my way with you. Is that it?” The nervous knot tightened in Kieran’s stomach; Oscar had hit the mark dead-on. “And I promise that I would enjoy you. On your hands and knees,” another hard bite. “And getting pounded,” fingers unlacing his breeches. “Straight.” Oscar slid upward again.  “Into.” The older man’s breath on his lips and his green eyes shining with excitement and arousal. “Next _week_.”

Kieran pulled him down and kissed him hard. Oscar groaned. It was all heat and passion and _lust_ , both of them hard and undressing each other desperately. Finally he pulled away. Oscar gave him the ‘you’re-in-for-it-now’ look and he nearly couldn’t say it. Then he glared back and smirked even through the blush that threatened to engulf his head in flames.

“Then _do it_ ,” he ordered. “Fuck me. As hard as you can.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow contemplatively. “Ah, see? You _can_ say it, if you really want it.” He kissed Kieran gently. “Keep saying it.”

It was Kieran’s turn to chuckle, even as Oscar fumbled for their container of oil. “Why?”

“Because it turns me on like nothing else has before,” he growled. “Short of the first time I ever saw you naked. Get on your hands and knees and beg for me, Kieran.”

Kieran obeyed. Oscar’s fingers were slick and pressed against his entrance. “Please, Oscar.”

“More.”

He begged. Oscar tormented him beyond belief, never going as far as Kieran would have liked. Still he begged, pleading for more fingers, his cock, _anything_ but this torturous, shallow thrusting and no contact with his cock whatsoever. And Oscar was smug the whole way through, telling him to be patient and how tight he was and how good it would feel to finally be inside of him. He put on a good act but Kieran knew he was aching for it just as badly.

Finally he stopped, slipping his fingers out one by one and adjusting his position. Kieran groaned at the loss and Oscar gently kissed his back.

“Are you sure?” he breathed. No teasing. This was genuine concern. Kieran bit his lip; he could feel Oscar against him. One swift movement and it would be done.

“More than anything,” Kieran murmured. “Please, Oscar.”

It was almost too gentle. Oscar was slow and his fingers dug into Kieran’s hips and he savoured it. It didn’t hurt; Oscar had been careful in his preparation, just as he was with everything else. Kieran let himself fall onto his elbows and they both gasped as the lance paladin slid in ever deeper. Then Oscar moved.

The promise of getting pounded into next week seemed valid. Gentle in the beginning or not, as soon as they had achieved a steady rhythm Oscar had started moving faster and pounding into him harder. Kieran was helpless. Not that he really minded, because it was _Oscar_ and if he were to be weak it could only be in front of him. And Oscar was damned _good_ , striking that sweet spot inside of him that made him bite his knuckles and groan the other man’s name over and over again.

Oscar let out a cry and for a moment he was relentless, gripping Kieran’s hips and fucking him so hard he thought he would split in two. Then he slowed, breathing heavily. Kieran opened his mouth to complain because he had been _this close_ but Oscar’s hand _finally_ met his cock, slick from oil and sweat and precum. The older man thrust into him again, hard and fast, fingers moving expertly. Kieran screamed into the blankets, coming harder than he ever had before. Oscar collapsed against him, sweaty and breathing heavily. They fell onto the blankets. Oscar made as though to get off of him.

“Don’t,” Kieran murmured. He felt his cheeks heat. “I want to feel you. Just for a bit more.”

Gently Oscar pressed into him again, dropping kisses to whatever skin he could reach. It was far beyond amazing and Kieran let a pleasured sigh escape him.

“I love you,” Oscar murmured into his hair. “I always will.”

Kieran flushed; Oscar had never said anything like that before.

“You don’t mean that,” he breathed. “People don’t spend a year together and then leave each other for Goddess knows how long and stay in love.”

“I loved you for two years straight without so much as a letter between us.” Oscar finally pulled out and Kieran rolled over to face him. “I mean it. I will always, always love you. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you too.”

They didn’t say anything after that. Kieran nuzzled into Oscar’s neck and inhaled deeply. Sex-sweat-leather-straw-steel-spices. He felt Oscar doing the same, committing his scent to memory. After a moment they chuckled and kissed. Oscar pulled him close and Kieran relaxed in the other man’s arms, letting sleep and pure comfort envelope him.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Shinon?”

The redhead’s hand was on his mouth before he could even get his question out. Dark eyes met his.

“Don’t even ask,” he replied, “because I’m not going to discuss anybody getting married or being proposed to or even if I’d like to go to dinner tonight. Which I don’t, because inevitably you will make the conversation go back to stupid Ike and his stupid _husband_. Go find someone else to whine to because I’m not listening to your nonsense.”

Gatrie chuckled and pulled Shinon into his arms. “I was going to ask if you’d like to go to bed early. Because all of this has made me very aware of how much I love you and that I really, really want to strip you down and just _worship_ every last inch of your body.”

Shinon relaxed in his arms and Gatrie leaned down, pressing his mouth to the exposed skin behind his ear. The sniper let out that familiar breathy moan and turned just enough to kiss him.

“Stupid idiot,” he murmured. “I love you so much.”

Gatrie flushed with pleasure. Shinon never said it that casually; it was always during or after sex or in the sleepy haze brought on by dawn or alcohol. Not that he minded, of course, because he knew with every fibre of his being that Shinon was so in love with him that it hurt to be apart for more than a few hours. Still, it was good to hear.

“I love you too,” he murmured, and was surprised when Shinon said it again. And then a third time. He kept on saying it as Gatrie undressed him, kissed every inch of exposed skin he could. It was short and curt as Gatrie slid into him and drawn-out as he came and when they were finally pressed together beneath their blankets he said it a thousand times more. Gatrie almost didn’t dare ask what had gotten into him lest he ruin it. He did anyways.

“Stupidity is contagious,” the sniper had murmured. “But I don’t have the money to afford rings, so you’ll have to take what you can get.” Then he had chuckled. “We live together anyways. Stop flirting when we’re in town and we’ll be more or less—”

Gatrie kissed him, long and deep. Shinon’s tongue met his and when they broke away the redhead was smiling.

“I love you,” Shinon murmured. “So help me goddess if you tell anyone about this. But I love you.”

“So we—I mean, not _really_ , but—”

“I’m just pissed off that he beat me to it,” Shinon murmured. His hand caught Gatrie’s. “You are mine and you always will be. Stay with me.”

“Of course,” Gatrie murmured, pressing kisses to the sniper’s hair. “I love you so, so much. Nothing would make me happier.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

By nightfall, the entire camp was in a fuss.

Rhys noted this with a heavy sigh. Ike’s proposal had been nothing short of touching, but it had shocked those who didn’t know what was going on between their commander and their staff officer. The troops from Begnion had set up camp a ways away from the main camp and were all gathered in hushed groups. Gallia and Phoenicis had joined the main camp without a second thought and were congratulating Ike and Soren, although Soren seemed rather intent on dragging Ike back to their tent instead of dealing with all the commotion. Rhys commented on it and Ulki chuckled.

“Ike asked him earlier if they could stay together all night. Intimately, if you catch my meaning.” Another soft chuckle. “He was quiet when he asked, to make sure that nobody heard, but…”

“But nothing escapes you,” Rhys replied. He smiled. “Ah, well. He and Soren are happy, even if Begnion is going to be fussy about their commander being queer.”

“Well, they’ll simply have to deal with it.” Ulki’s arm fell around his shoulders. “Everyone takes things at their own pace, whether it is coming to terms with taking orders from a queer or working up the courage to propose.”

“And we’re the perfect example of that, aren’t we?”

“Mm.” Ulki kissed his temple gently. “Yes.”

They were silent for a moment. Rhys could feel his heart pounding and knew that Ulki could hear it. The hawk pressed another kiss against his temple.

“What is it?” he asked.

Rhys swallowed. Butterflies flitted through his stomach. His voice was shaking. “I…we…Ulki, I want more.” When no reply came, he continued. “We’ve taken things so slowly. And I am truly grateful for that. But every night I’m not as afraid because I know that you would never hurt me. I’m not saying that I want…sex. Not right now. But I want to try going further, at least.” He gave the hawk a weak smile. “Take me to bed and make me enjoy it. I’ll tell you when I need you to stop.”

“Are you sure?” Ulki looked him in the eye and he flushed. “I do not want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Rhys smiled and pulled away, taking several steps backward and then laying back on their bedrolls. “You are gentle and kind and I know that you can hear every last change in my breathing and my movement. Even if I don’t say anything, you will know.”

Ulki smiled. “I love you, Rhys.” He leaned over the bishop and kissed him. Rhys sighed softly.

“I’m not made of glass, Ulki.” He pulled the hawk close. “Kiss me. Touch me.”

Ulki chuckled and kissed him deeply. Rhys couldn’t help moaning; the hawk was an incredible kisser. Slender fingers undid his robes and he shrugged them off, undoing the tie that kept Ulki’s outer layer shut. Their shirts came off and they pressed together, hands exploring familiar territory. Kisses trailed down Rhys’ neck and a hand slid down to his chest. He bit his lip in anticipation; they had come this far before. Lips on his throat and fingers lightly flicking against his nipples. Recently he’d let Ulki nudge a knee between his legs and the hawk’s thigh had brushed against him with every movement, sending ripples of pleasure through his body.

The hawk hesitated only slightly but Rhys squeezed his shoulder gently, breathing that he was fine. This hadn’t been a part of his previous relationship, not even remotely; his last boyfriend had simply kissed him and let his hands wander no higher than Rhys’ hips. There were no unpleasant memories. Not with this, anyways.

Ulki’s mouth trailed lower. Rhys watched him through lidded eyes. The other man’s tongue flicked against one of his nipples before his mouth encased it, sucking gently. After a moment there was the gentle scrape of teeth and Rhys let Ulki’s name out in a sighing whisper, fingers threading through the hawk’s hair. Ulki hummed and continued his ministrations. He slid his hand up Rhys’ side and gently ran his thumb over the bishop’s other nipple. Rhys was louder this time and he felt Ulki’s mouth curve into a smile.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Immensely,” Rhys replied. “Please continue.”

Ulki chuckled. “As you wish.”

He shifted slightly. One hand caught Rhys’ and the other slid down to his hip. Brief hesitation. Rhys squeezed his hand. This was a touch more difficult; he’d come away with bruised hips the last time someone other than Ulki had touched them. But the hawk was gentle, as always. His lips trailed down Rhys’ ribs, over his stomach. The bishop couldn’t help laughing and Ulki smirked and raised an eyebrow. He pressed wet, sucking kisses against Rhys’ stomach.

“Ticklish?” he asked.

“Very,” Rhys managed to get out.

Ulki was relentless at that point, kissing him over and over until he was sure he would pass out from laughing too hard. Then he realized that the hawk had slid his pants down and off without him ever noticing. A moment later he realized that he was hard, his erection pressing against Ulki’s upper stomach. He flushed and Ulki looked up at him. The hawk smiled.

“I love you,” he murmured. “And look at that. We’re both undressed and you’re aroused and only a bit embarrassed about it.” He pulled Rhys close and for a long time they just lay there, listening to each other breathe. Finally Ulki spoke again. “I will not go any further unless you’re sure you want me to.”

“Show me what ‘further’ entails,” Rhys breathed. He was nervous again. He had a faint idea but wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to acknowledge it just yet. “I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”

Feather-light touches moved across his hip. Ulki moved upward until he was looking Rhys in the eye. His look was gentle and Rhys smiled before closing his eyes.

“Please,” he breathed. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

Ulki kissed him gently and the other man’s hand slowly wrapped around his cock. Briefly he remembered rough hands doing the same thing without a care for his own pleasure. His breath caught in his throat but he shook his head when Ulki asked if he wanted him to stop. Slight hesitance, and then Ulki’s thumb was spreading precum over the head of his cock. The movement was slick and easy and Rhys couldn’t remember anything feeling this good, ever, not even the last time he’d touched himself after the inexplicably non-terrifying dream of Soren. A soft hum met his ears and he knew that Ulki was smiling.

“So you like this, then?”

Rhys couldn’t do anything other than moan in reply. Ulki’s hand was firm and tight and he was paying attention to exactly what would make Rhys’ breath catch in his throat, what would make his grip tighten and his toes curl. And the motion was steadily getting faster and more and more pleasurable. Ulki kissed his neck and his hand slowed.

“Rhys.” When his voice got no reply he stopped entirely. Rhys groaned and felt his cock twitch.

“What?” he managed.

“There is more. If you are interested.”

Should he? There was potential for this to get either far better or take a turn for the worse. His heart was pounding but he nodded.

“Yes.”

“Are you—?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” He let a soft smile out. “I trust you. I’ll say so if I need you to stop.”

Ulki slid downward, trailing kisses along Rhys’ skin the entire way and gently stroking the bishop’s cock the entire way. He paused when his lips were inches away. Then his mouth closed around just the tip and he sucked gently. His tongue moved exactly right and Rhys drew in his breath sharply as Ulki took in more and more of his cock. He’d been wrong before; nothing could possibly feel _this_ good but somehow it did anyways. Ulki was amazing, sucking and licking and using his hands wherever his mouth couldn’t reach. Rhys arched upward and found himself thrusting into Ulki’s mouth, fingers digging into the blankets.

Sheer pleasure overtook him. Rhys groaned Ulki’s name as he came and the hawk hummed softly. He swallowed and then pulled off of Rhys’ cock slowly, savouring every last second. Rhys let out a shuddering gasp; it was too much of an overload. Ulki chuckled and curled around him.

“So you’re alright with this, then?”

“I…” Rhys flushed. “You were so…so _good_ that I didn’t have time to do anything but feel you. When you were…with your hands…very briefly. I remembered. But everything else had never been done before. So there are no bad memories associated with those and now there never will be.”

Ulki kissed him gently. Rhys could taste himself on the other man’s lips and resisted the urge to make a face. How could Ulki have _swallowed_ that?

The hawk must have heard a change in his breathing or motion, because he pulled away and chuckled. “I swallowed because it is _you_. Every last part of you tastes good to me.”

“Even _that_.”

“Even that. I’m glad that you let me.” Ulki kissed his brow gently. “I’m glad that you aren’t as afraid anymore.”

Rhys frowned. “But what about you? I didn’t—”

Another soft kiss. “I will be fine. Unless you want to help. It is still a matter of your comfort.”

“I want to.” He said it without hesitation and kissed Ulki. “But…you’ll have to teach me what you like. I can’t just listen and know like you can.”

“I can do that,” Ulki murmured. “I love you, Rhys.”

Rhys flushed with pleasure and let his hands trail down the hawk’s body. “I love you, Ulki. I will, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“And I you.” Ulki let out a soft gasp as Rhys gripped his cock. “I am proud of you.”

Rhys silenced him with a soft kiss. Ulki smiled and relaxed, breathing instructions every now and again. The hawk asked briefly if Rhys would use his mouth and the bishop had shaken his head. One of the more painful memories, he had explained. Ulki had said nothing more about it. His fingers dug into Rhys’ back as he came and Rhys had eyed his fingers contemplatively before raising them to his mouth and giving them an experimental lick. Not as terrible, just strong. He licked his fingers clean and then kissed Ulki, who made a face. They had both laughed and then settled against each other.

Rhys was asleep in minutes.


	26. In which a wedding is interrupted

It had been a pain in the rear but it had been worth it, in the end.

Or at least, that was what Stefan was telling him. Soren eyed himself in the mirror and couldn’t see a major difference. Mist had insisted that he wear something better than the robes he fought in and he had grudgingly agreed, letting her cart him through the marketplace until she’d found a green fabric that she said brought out his eyes. Then she’d spent all of her gold on it. A waste, really.

But she’d spent an hour fitting him and another three with Titania and Elincia helping sew and then they had finally let Soren look at himself in a mirror. The robes fell on him the same way his regular ones did and apart from the colour there was no difference. And for robes that he would probably only wear once, it seemed like a waste. But it hadn’t been his gold, so at this point it didn’t matter.

Stefan had appeared at that point and ushered the girls out. He had given Soren the up-and-down and smiled. And now his hands were working the tension out of Soren’s neck, thumbs moving expertly over his tense muscles.

“You need to relax,” he was murmuring. “You don’t look like it but you’re nervous all the same. Go out there and smile and have a good time. You’re getting _married_.” The swordmaster’s hands slowed only briefly. “That’s more than any of us would have ever hoped to accomplish.”

“Ike is the one who proposed. I merely said yes.”

Stefan shook his head and turned Soren around to face him. Gently he pressed their Brands together. “Ike knows what you are. He has seen my mark and I’m sure he suspects that I am the same. And instead of condemning us he has taken lessons from me and loved you all the more. The Branded simply _don’t_ get married, Soren. And here you are, doing just that. It’s inspiring.”

Soren looked away. “You have Mordecai. He knows and if he cared then I’m sure you would have been either mauled or abandoned by now.”

Stefan chuckled. “I suppose.” He turned Soren back around and tutted. “Really, you plan to go out like this? Your hair is a mess.”

Soren protested but Stefan ignored him, pulling his hair loose and running his fingers through it until it was untangled. Then the other man was pulling it together, retying it in one loose tail that flowed to the small of his back. Soren sighed; was this going to end at any point?

“I’m happy for you,” Stefan breathed, chin settling onto Soren’s shoulder. “It sounds stupid but I do look up to you, even though I’ve got forty-some years on you. You are everything that one of us should not be.”

“Oh?”

“Alive and not starving, not being beaten in the streets. Happy and in love with and getting married to the most kind-hearted beorc in all of Tellius.”

Soren couldn’t help chuckling at that, and Stefan squeezed him from behind before pulling away. The sage turned and looked at him expectantly, because it was Stefan and if there was anyone he even half-trusted aside from Ike, it was this man with matching scars and an equally ugly Brand and a past that was just as horrifying. Stefan’s lips curved into a half-smirk.

“You’re still missing something,” he murmured to himself. Then he snapped his fingers. “Ah! Give me one moment and I’ll be right back.”

Soren didn’t have time to ask; Stefan was out of the tent in an instant. He sighed and sat down on a crate, folding his hands in his lap. His finger felt naked without the ring on it, and even though he knew that he would have it back within the hour it still felt strange. Ike’s fingers had been laced together with his when they had made love the previous night, pressing it into his skin until it felt like a part of his own body rather than an accessory. And Ike had kissed it and then his Brand and finally his lips, murmuring how happy and in love he was the entire time.

“Close your eyes.”

And that would be Stefan, both hands behind his back and still giving him that grin. Soren couldn’t help but smile; he had a suspicion that he knew what the other man was hiding but chose to say nothing. He obeyed and Stefan moved forward. The other man’s lips pressed against his Brand and Soren’s eyes shot open. Stefan pulled away and smiled.

“I’m happy for you,” he breathed. He held flowers in one hand. Roses and lilies, crimson standing out vividly against a soft white background. “Ashera bless you both on this day, now and forever. No matter where you go, may you be happy. And remember what I said. You will always have a place in Grann.” He smiled. “Both of you.”

Soren gave in. Wary of thorns, he reached forward and pulled Stefan close. The older man buried his face in Soren’s neck and sighed, murmuring something that he didn’t quite catch. Soren sighed. Annoying or not, Stefan understood how important this was. How significant a Branded getting married would be. Soren still didn’t fully understand how Stefan could look up to him but it didn’t matter at this point. Stefan had supported him from a distance ever since Ike’s near-death in Daein, touching him only when they were alone together. They had talked and compared scars and examined one another’s Brands. It had been nothing short of relief for him and he was sure that Stefan felt the same way. But Stefan had needed him less and less since he and Mordecai had (finally) gotten together. Not that it would be missed. There were better things to be doing. Inventory and a rations check and injury reports, finances and the weapons count. He repeated it over and over in his head until he believed it.

Stefan gently kissed his Brand again. “You know, I’m going to miss you. Even when we were just sitting there and not speaking. There is an understanding that I cannot have with any other person in this camp. We share the same scars and stories and we both hate people. And I’m going to miss seeing your mark. Even though I’m taken. What we are…nobody can truly understand but another one of the Branded.”

“Ike does.” He said it without hesitation because he simply _knew_. Ike knew how much it hurt to not belong anywhere, even though he had been blessed his entire life with a family that loved him and would never starve him, sell him, beat him.

Stefan chuckled and pulled away, handing the flowers to Soren. “If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be going through with this. I’m proud of you and I’m happy for you. In a weird, twisted way, I love you.”

“ _Stefan_ —”

“Not the way I love Mordecai, or the way you love Ike. I love you as a companion and an ally and a friend. Someone I can talk to and write to and not have to worry about being abandoned at any given moment. You are the only one, even though I have everyone who lives in Grann. I’ve thought long and hard about it and I know in my heart that I love you.”

“You are speaking nonsense.”

Stefan shrugged. “I’m learning to speak my heart. And we’ve only got a few days left together. Shouldn’t I be honest before you disappear from my life forever? Even if I write to you, I’m sure you won’t write back.” He leaned forward and kissed Soren’s mark one last time. Slowly, tenderly. A whisper of what might have been. “I am madly in love with Mordecai but I feel for you as though you are family. And you are getting married. This is just as exciting for me.” He paused, and then chuckled. “Well. You don’t seem that excited. But I know you are.”

“I most certainly am not.” But he knew deep down that he was. Butterflies had been flitting through his stomach ever since Titania had taken their rings and Ike had kissed him goodbye. Some nonsense about it being bad luck to see each other before the ceremony. And Soren had fallen for it because Ike was being romantic and had promised him a good honeymoon, even if it didn’t happen until after this whole war mess was over. Promises of going somewhere together, just the two of them, eating good food and drinking wine (something that Soren, admittedly, loved) and making love thousands of times. And Soren had reluctantly handed his ring over (that gorgeous, gorgeous ring) and walked off to get changed.

“You _are_ ,” Stefan chuckled. Then he held out an elbow. “Come on, then. I’m your escort.”

“Escort?”

“You’ve got to walk down the aisle with _someone_ ,” Stefan replied. “Your parents are…absent. And considering what happened between us, Ike and I thought it fitting that I walk you.”

“Ike agreed?”

Stefan smiled. “Well, I asked. And he told me that since you and I are so alike, and since we’ve become friends, and since I ended up giving you over to him once anyways that I’m the only one who could escort you and then hand you over to him.”

“You make it seem like a business deal. I have no dowry and you get nothing out of this.”

They chuckled softly at that. Soren bit his lip and then caught Stefan’s elbow, the flowers clutched in his other hand. Stefan pulled him in until they were pressed together, hip to hip. His hand slid overtop of Soren’s. The sage couldn’t help smiling. He was getting _married_ to the man of his dreams in less than a quarter of a mark, despite his past and his bloodline. He could smile. Just this once.

“You look wonderful,” Stefan murmured. “Ike’s going to love it.”

“Thank you.” It was so soft that Stefan couldn’t have heard it. “Thank you so very much.”

A gentle squeeze on his hand. They stepped out of the tent.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“You look astounding.”

Ike flushed and looked at Oscar. It wasn’t _that_ fancy; Mist had polished what little armour he had and fixed the tears in his cape and shirt and nothing more. His hair was still as messy as it always was, but Soren had told him that he liked it that way anyways. “Don’t exaggerate. I look just like I always do.”

The paladin chuckled from where he was perched on Ike’s desk. “Come now. I don’t _do_ flattery. You look very handsome. Soren is going to love it. He’ll fall for you even harder.” Oscar paused and then stood. “Are you alright?”

Ike didn’t speak for a moment. The knot in his stomach tightened. “Was this the right thing to do?”

“What do you mean? Of course it was.”

“And after all this is over, will everyone still take orders from me? Begnion has been avoiding me like the plague ever since word got out. I haven’t seen hair nor hide of General Zelgius since the morning before the battle in Castle Nados. If he’s up and left because I’m marrying another man then that means that we’ve lost a good chunk of our fighting power and—”

Oscar punched him. Not hard enough to leave a mark. Ike staggered and then eyed him incredulously. “You would strike your commander?”

“I would strike my brother, knowing full well that he could handle such a gentle blow.” Oscar smiled and placed his hands on Ike’s shoulders. “Do you love Soren?”

“More than anything in this world.”

“And would making this public, letting everyone know that you are together and in love and happier than you would ever be otherwise, make you both happy?”

“I…I think so.”

“Ike.”

“Yes.”

“And at the end of the day when you’re wearing that ring and holding him after a round or two of completely mind-blowing sex and knowing that you will be with him forever, will you regret anything?”

“No.”

Oscar smiled. “Then that’s all that matters. And you still have me, at the very least. And Kieran will fight with me until the bitter end. And Rhys with him, and Ulki with him, etcetera. If nothing else, you have the men and women you have personally hired. We all look up to you and trust you. It doesn’t matter that you’re gay. It makes you no less of a man, no less of a swordsman. You are a capable commander and you have led us all through Crimea and Gallia and Begnion and Daein. And now we’re days away from finally getting our homeland back and it is all thanks to you.” The paladin squeezed his shoulders and then let go. “Now, are you going to go in there worried about all this or are you going to let yourself be happy and damn whatever Begnion does?”

“Damn whatever Begnion does.” Ike grinned. The knot untwisted and disappeared. “Thank you. I chose a good best man.”

Oscar clapped him on the shoulder and picked up his lance. “Good. Now let’s get out there. Everyone’s waiting.” He struck a pose with his weapon. “And I’ll be prepared to fend off anyone who dares try and take Soren from you.”

Ike couldn’t help laughing. Oscar had always been able to settle his nerves, ever since the beginning of this whole ordeal. When his father had died and when Soren had cheated on him and during battle when Ike had been sure he would be overwhelmed. And now the paladin was looking quite prepared to spear anyone who dared try and take this happiness away from them.

Ike held out a fist. Oscar smiled and bumped his own against it. “Goddess bless you, Ike. I am proud to call you my commander. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Ike replied. “Shall we?”

“Yes, commander.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

Goddess, but this was beautiful.

Rhys couldn’t help it. His breath caught in his throat and for a moment he couldn’t move. He simply took it all in. Lilies and roses and everything that a church would have had. If they had been anywhere near one, of course. It wasn’t entirely perfect; everyone who wanted to attend would have to stand in rows rather than sit. Then Ulki kissed the nape of his neck and drew him close, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Will it do?” the hawk asked.

Rhys turned and kissed him. “Of course. This is beautiful. It’s exactly the way the chapel in my village is. Or at least, the way I remember it. Ike and Soren will love it. If nothing else, _I_ love it.”

“I’m glad. We’ve spent the past few marks setting everything up.” Ulki chuckled. “Your mercenaries are something else.”

“We want our commander to be happy. And he and Soren are practically married anyways. This is just a more public way of showing it, I suppose.” Rhys smiled. “And I’m honoured that Ike asked me to marry them.”

“Your heart is pounding.”

“I’m nervous.” He laughed when Ulki kissed him. “But I’m far more happy than I am nervous. Over three years they’ve been together and finally they’re making it official.”

“Good luck. You’ll do a wonderful job with the ceremony and then we can get on to the reception.”

The bishop’s eyes widened. “We’re having a reception?”

Ulki gave him a half-smile. “Well, not entirely. There have been dinner arrangements made and one of the local bakers has made a cake. We’ve got wine and champagne. It will be a small celebration.”

“And do Ike and Soren know about any of this?”

Ulki laughed. “Ike does. Soren…will find out soon.”

Rhys couldn’t help laughing and Ulki squeezed him. “Thank you for helping organize this. It would have been hell to do by myself.”

“I do what I can for the man I love.” Ulki’s hands wandered down to his rear and he squeezed appreciatively; Rhys squeaked and looked at the ground. “And, if you’re interested, I’d like to reward you later for a job well done.”

“Oh? And how would you do that?”

“With a good night of just us. Some champagne and good food and just the two of us.”

“And will it end with us both naked and holding each other?” Rhys flushed; asking this was too embarrassing.

“Anything you want.” Ulki caught his chin and tilted his face up. He smiled. “I love you.” Gentle kisses on his lips, cheeks, forehead. Rhys smiled.

“I love you too, Ulki.” He pulled away reluctantly. “I see Ike. That means we’re getting started.”

“Good luck. I’ll see you afterwards.” He kissed Rhys one last time. The bishop smiled and hurried off.

())CRAYOLA))> 

It wasn’t quite as nerve-wracking as Soren had initially thought. A little cliché, perhaps, what with the flowers everywhere and the way they’d set up the camp to look like a church. But it was the thought that counted, or so he kept telling himself.

And it went by all too quickly. One moment he was handing his flowers off to Stefan and joining hands with Ike; the next he was promising forever in front of everybody that knew him; then the ring was slipping onto his finger and then Rhys was telling them to _kiss_ , for the love of each other and the Goddess, kiss and make it final.

And then Ike was pulling him close and looking him in the eye and _smirking_ , and Soren knew that he was really in for it now unless he did something. And the only rational thing to do was beat Ike to the punch so he threw his arms around Ike’s neck and kissed him, open-mouthed, tongues fighting for dominance, Ike finally giving in and letting Soren’s tongue ravage his mouth. Catcalls and whistles came from (GatrieJanaffKieranMiaMarciaRanulf) their audience. Soren didn’t care. He was married. To _Ike_. The idiot who had left his boots out in the rain and forgot to shave every few days and had promised him forever in front of everybody.

“I love you,” Ike breathed. His arms didn’t loosen around Soren. His breath was hot against Soren’s lips and the sage smiled.

“ _I love you_ ,” he replied. “Je t’aime, I love you. In every language I know, I love you.”

“A third one now?” Ike kissed him again. A gentle press of lips. “Where did you learn that?”

“Bastian allowed me to borrow several books.” Soren kissed him, tongue trailing a languid line across Ike’s lower lip. He pulled away before Ike could deepen the kiss. “I love you so much, Ike.”

“Enough to have dinner and celebrate this with everyone? Because someone has let slip that they’ve prepared a dinner for us.”

“Dinner?”

“Well, for everyone. And supposedly there’s cake, and champagne, and a few bottles of your favourite red wine.”

“You didn’t—”

“I did.” Ike smiled and finally pulled away slightly. “Come on. Let’s go have some time together and then eat.”

“You don’t mean—”

“I want to get you out of those robes and have a nap with you. Nothing more until tonight. You’re a patient man, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you.” Soren smiled and took Ike’s hand. It would never be complete without his ring now. Gently he lifted it and kissed it. More catcalls. He ignored them. “To bed, then?”

Ike eyed him contemplatively. Then he scooped Soren up. Stereotypical bridal carry. Of course. Soren gave him a look but Ike just laughed and kissed him again, murmuring that it was romantic.

())CRAYOLA))> 

The evening was, by far, the highlight of the day.

For once in his life, Ike was completely, without a doubt, absolutely _full_. There seemed to be no end to the amount of food that came pouring in. And the cake was alright, even if it _was_ cake. And the wine still wasn’t his favourite, but it was good, at least, and between them he and Soren finished a bottle each. Soren was no lightweight despite his small stature; his cheeks were flushed but other than that he was behaving normally, if not a touch more giddy than usual. Even Ike felt a touch tipsy, but it was lost in the congratulations and people patting him on the back and the thousands of words said to him.

Ranulf had given them _something_ that night, too. He’d said nothing about what it was, just that they should each take a sip and save the rest for some other time. And Ike had looked at Soren, shrugged, and taken an experimental taste. Not bad. Sweet, but not too terrible. Soren had taken just a touch more and then they had capped the bottle and placed it in one of Ike’s pouches. Ranulf had grinned knowingly and told them to enjoy every last mark of their evening and then disappeared into the crowd.

A mark later, Ike was feeling it. Because Soren looked so damned _good_ right now, flushed and starting their third bottle of wine. Garnet eyes caught his and the sage smirked.

“You too?” he breathed. Ike couldn’t do anything but nod, and Soren chuckled. “That bastard. It’s used in Gallia when it’s not the right season. Keeps you… _interested_ …for a very long time and takes perhaps a mark to kick in.”

“S-so—”

“We’re experiencing what would be the equivalent of a good Gallian heat.” Soren was leaning over now, trailing his fingers up Ike’s thigh. “To bed, then?”

“Please.”

And for the second time in two days, Soren was dragging him to their tent. They’d set it up a ways out of camp so nobody would hear; they’d known that they would be wanting sex afterward, but like _this_? Ike felt like he could go all night, one, two, five times, until Soren was shaking and sweating and begging for him to stop.

He let Soren push him down on their bed (Elincia had insisted that they have a proper bed, just for their wedding night), let the sage kiss him and undress them both until they were naked and their erections rubbing together every time they moved. Ike couldn’t help groaning.

“Do you trust me?” Soren murmured.

“Always,” Ike replied.

“Good. Shut your eyes.”

Ike grinned; this was nothing new. Soren would kiss him and tease his body differently every time and Ike would have no idea what was happening until finally Soren let him open his eyes again just in time to see the sage sliding down onto his cock. It was straightforward from there, Soren riding him hard until he came, the sage coming to completion soon afterward. Still, he obeyed.

Soren was gone for a moment and Ike nearly opened his eyes. What was going on?

Then Soren’s hand caught his wrist and pulled it upward, over his head. Leather met his arm and tightened; a buckle slid shut. Experimentally he tried moving his arm. Very little give. He cracked one eye open and looked at Soren.

“Tying me up? Really?” he asked. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked this. “And with our belts?”

Soren smirked. “You’ll like it. And you deserve it, too, after what you did last night.”

“You liked it,” Ike replied, even as Soren tied his other arm up to the other bedpost. “You ended up begging me to fuck you.”

“Because you tormented me beyond anything that anyone should have to bear,” Soren replied. He was spreading Ike’s legs now, kissing his thighs, slowly and gently binding his ankles. “Move.”

A brief struggle. Soren had him completely tied down. His knees were bent just enough to give him some movement. There would be no release until Soren undid his bindings. He still wasn’t sure about this.

“Soren…”

The sage straddled his hips. Hands slid over his chest and came to rest on the lowest of his ribs. He smiled and his eyes met Ike’s. “Ike. I love you. I will never, ever hurt you and if this is truly not something you want, then say so right now and we never have to speak of it again. But I believe that you will enjoy this, if you give it a chance. You’ve let me take you before and I have always been gentle. The only difference is that this time you cannot hold me and cannot force me in any harder or faster than I choose.”

“Let me see you,” Ike murmured. “I need to see what you’re doing.”

“As you wish.”

Soren kissed him gently and that was all it took for the uncertainty to fly away. Soren would never hurt him. That was all there was to it.

Gently, the sage deepened the kiss. Open-mouthed, tongues touching. His hands slid back upward and he thumbed over Ike’s nipples, flicking with his nails. Ike groaned softly and Soren chuckled. His tongue traced along Ike’s bottom lip and Ike briefly thought of pulling Soren close and kissing him as deeply as he could. His right arm pulled against the leather and was stopped after not even a half-inch. Soren pulled away and cocked an eyebrow, smirking.

“Oh? Fighting your restraints already? This _will_ be fun,” he purred. His mouth met Ike’s neck and he licked a long, slow line up to Ike’s earlobe. Ike stretched as much as he could to give Soren as much access as was possible and Soren obliged, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin just behind his ear. Gentle nips on his earlobe and then Soren was sucking, fingers still flicking and pinching Ike’s nipples and sending jolts of pleasure shooting through him. Ike struggled briefly again and Soren pulled away.

“Every time you struggle, I take a step backward,” he murmured. Ike frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Soren returned to his lips, kissing him slowly and gently. Every time Ike tried for more, Soren would pull away for a moment, and then lean back in. Eventually Ike settled against his pillows, lips parted and every ounce of his willpower being used to not kiss Soren back. The sage’s tongue trailed slow, teasing lines across his lips, over his tongue and back again. Then he smirked.

“Kiss me,” he growled, and that was all it took. Ike leaned upward as much as he could and kissed Soren hard, tongue forcing its way into the other man’s mouth. Soren groaned and pulled him close, one hand fisting into his hair and the other trailing down his stomach, ghosting over his erection and then coming to rest on his hip. Finally Soren pulled away, still smirking.

“Do you trust me?” he asked again.

“Of course,” Ike panted.

“Shut your eyes,” Soren replied. Ike hesitated only briefly before obeying. Soren leaned up and gently kissed his eyelids. Then the tenderness was gone and he leaned down to Ike’s neck, scraping his teeth along his skin before biting down sharply. Ike let out a soft cry. Blood trickled over his collarbone and he felt Soren licking it away. Goddess, what had happened? Soren was never like _this_. Not that he wasn’t enjoying himself, of course. But—

Soren’s tongue and teeth met one of Ike’s nipples and he groaned. All thought was reduced to nothing. All that existed was Soren’s tongue teasing him and his fingers still ghosting over Ike’s dripping erection. He made as though to push Soren’s head down but was stopped again by the leather. Abruptly Soren’s fingers stopped their teasing trail. He pulled off of Ike’s nipple with a slow, hard suck and then sighed.

“You were doing so well, too.” His fingers replaced his tongue and he leaned up, gently kissing Ike’s neck. “This hurts me just as much as it hurts you, you know.”

“Then why?”

“Because you’re being punished for what you did last night.” Soren was grinning, Ike was _sure_ of it. He always grinned when he knew he was going to get his way in the end, even if Ike wasn’t happy about it. “Don’t fight your restraints.”

Ike said nothing. Soren kissed his throat gently. His fingers were still flicking against Ike’s nipple and he briefly thought that he might be sore in the morning from all of this. But it all started again and the sage leaned down a second time and his mouth was just as gentle as it had been on his throat, tongue soothing away any pain. A hand trailed down Ike’s stomach again and a single finger ran over Ike’s erection. He groaned but didn’t struggle. Soren hummed softly. He pulled away and settled against Ike’s side, one hand finally wrapping around Ike’s cock. He palmed the head, spreading precum and making the movement slick and easy. Then he was squeezing, moving slowly at first, thumbing over the most sensitive spot he knew of. Ike couldn’t help the movement at that point; his entire body was trembling and every time Soren moved that way it would send a tremor through him.

Soren just chuckled. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? Do you have anything to say?”

It took him a moment to find words; this was just so damned _good_. His throat was dry and he was sweating and he knew his face was flushed and it was getting harder and harder to ignore the fact that he was going to come, and _soon_.

“I—ah! _S-Soren_ …!” The sage’s hand slowed briefly, just long enough for him to find words. “Please, _please_ stop tormenting me.” An increase in speed. “Please, please, please.” He was begging and if it were to anyone else it would be humiliating. But it was Soren, and the sage was right; he _did_ deserve this because he’d made Soren do the exact same thing the night before. “J-just like that, Soren, _please,_ just a bit more…”

Abruptly Soren _stopped._ Ike couldn’t help opening his eyes and glaring. Soren smirked and said nothing. He turned and found their oil and Ike couldn’t help the relief that flooded over him. Now he’d at least be able to get off, because once Soren was inside him the sage had a tendency to not want to stop until they were both completely sated.

But Soren seemed to have a different idea. He said nothing about Ike having his eyes open and slicked oil onto his erection. Instead of making any move to reposition himself, however, he simply touched himself, becoming more and more lost in pleasure as the seconds ticked by. After a moment he moved his hand and Ike realized he had fingers inside himself. Soren’s cheeks were flushed and he let out a soft, breathy moan, spreading his legs more, thrusting his fingers in as deeply as he could.

This was downright unfair. 

Ike started begging again, pleading for Soren to stop (not that it wasn’t a wonderful sight) and just _fuck_ him already, as hard and fast and deep as he could, forgetting any possible pain he might cause. And Soren had hummed and then leaned over him, cock pressing into Ike’s thigh. His fingers were still slick and he slid a single digit in a slow circle around Ike’s entrance. Ike cursed under his breath and arched upward just slightly, just enough to give Soren as much access as he physically could. Soren paused for a moment, presumably contemplating whether this was worth stepping backward for, and then kissed his stomach and eased that single finger into him. Not enough to satisfy him, but it was better than nothing. After a moment he slid in a second and third finger at the same time, stretching him wide rather abruptly. It bordered on pain and Soren froze when Ike gasped.

“Are you hurt?” he breathed.

Ike shook his head and thanked Ashera that Soren had slender fingers. Anyone else would have hurt him. “No. Just pleasantly surprised. Please, Soren.”

Soren was still set upon teasing him, though. The sage knew how to move his fingers to make Ike quiver with pleasure but he refused to do it properly, instead leaving Ike frustrated and begging once more. Oh, if he’d had control of his limbs, things would be going differently. But he didn’t voice that either, because goddess knew what Soren would do if he said that. And eventually the sage curled his fingers properly, stroking his inner walls gently, fingertips firmly pressing over the bundle of nerves that made Ike cry out in pleasure and jerk uncontrollably. For one horrifying moment Soren stopped moving, and then he hummed and continued.

Ike swallowed and spread his legs ever more, arching upward, inviting the sage. “Soren.”

“Mm?” Soren’s languid pace didn’t stop and for that, Ike was thankful. “What is it you want _now_?”

“Soren, please, please make love to me. I need you inside of me so badly I think I might burst from it.”

“Ah.” Soren shifted. “That’s what I wanted to hear. You’re free to open your eyes, Ike.”

He was smiling. His eyes were gentle and said that Soren loved him far more than words ever would. He positioned himself and smoothed his free hand over Ike’s thigh. Slowly he eased in, inch by inch, far gentler than need be. When he was fully sheathed he paused. Goddess, he felt _wonderful_. Soren just happened to fit him perfectly, stretching him wide but not to the point of pain, filling him far beyond the point of mere satisfaction.

“Do you want me to untie you?”

Ike raised and eyebrow. Then he smiled and gently squeezed Soren’s sides with his legs. “I’m being punished, aren’t I?” His smile grew cocky. “Go on. Show me what a good Gallian heat feels like.”

Soren didn’t need to be asked twice; he gripped Ike’s cock with one hand and fucked him hard, just the way he loved it. Ike couldn’t help groaning. Soren was absolutely _perfect_ and all the torment had been completely worth it, because at this point he was more turned on than he ever had been in his life and Soren was doing everything right, stroking his cock and pounding into him and he was helpless to do anything but gasp in pleasure.

Moments later he came hard, shooting over his chest and stomach. Soren didn’t slow in the slightest and seconds later he came to completion as well, groaning Ike’s name. Finally he slowed, well after he’d milked out every last drop of his seed. He collapsed against Ike, murmuring something in Ancient as he went. The leather binding Ike’s limbs loosened and Ike pulled free. Briefly he thought of vengeance, but Soren was panting and grinning and Ike couldn’t be angry about this, not after the most mind-blowing sex he’d ever had. He pulled Soren close and kissed him and inhaled his scent, savouring it.

“I love you,” he breathed. “I love you so, so much, Soren.”

“And I you,” Soren murmured. Their eyes met and he gave Ike a playful smirk. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have the strength left to do it again?” Finally Soren flushed, the dominating side of him gone. “Because as much as I love being inside of you, it’s not the same as having you hold me and kiss me and…you know.”

Ike kissed his brand. “Gently, then? Your arms around me and your breath against my neck as we move together? That state where the world dissolves around us and all I can feel is you? So gently that it surprises you when you come and you don’t have time to suppress the way you gasp my name?”

“Strangely poetic, coming from you.”

“Poetry could not even begin to describe the way it feels to love you.” Ike kissed him. “Nor the way it feels to be so intimate.”

“Please, Ike.”

His strength was almost completely back at this point and he made a mental note to thank Ranulf for the potion he’d given them. Then he rolled them over and gently kissed Soren. He was hard again (or perhaps his erection simply hadn’t softened) and he fumbled for their oil. After a brief search that neither of them could help chuckling at, he smoothed oil over his hand and slid his fingers into the other man. Soren let out a soft, breathy moan and Ike kissed him. After a moment he let his cock replace his fingers and he pulled Soren close. The sage’s legs wrapped around him and his nails dug into Ike’s back and they kissed, languidly entangling their tongues. Ike’s thrusts were slow and gentle and deep and Soren moaned into his mouth.

Ike made to reach in between them, to give some attention to Soren’s cock, but the sage shook his head and pulled them ever closer. His cock was firmly pressed between their stomachs and Ike couldn’t help but smile. He adjusted the way he was moving just enough to rub against Soren’s cock and the sage ground against his stomach. They moved slowly and gently, clinging to each other the way they had their first time, all those years ago. Ike felt his orgasm building again and let their pace increase just slightly. The sage kissed him and Ike bit his lip as he came, fingers digging into Soren’s skin. Soren came seconds later with a shuddering gasp, breathing Ike’s name as the last waves of pleasure rolled over him. Ike didn’t bother pulling out. Instead he pulled Soren closer, pressing into him deeply.

“You feel so _right_ ,” he murmured. “I love you.”

Soren’s fingers slid into his hair. “I love you too, Ike.” He paused. “Ike.”

“Mm?”

“One more time?”

Ike chuckled. He had the strength for one last go, at the very least. “And how would you like it this time?”

“Do…do you remember the night I told you I was Branded? And we made love and you made sure we came at the same time?” Soren’s cheeks flushed and Ike kissed them. “I want that again.”

“I thought you said it was too cliché.”

“I loved it and you know it.” Soren kissed him. “Please?”

“Anything for you.”

“’Til death?”

Ike kissed him gently. “Far beyond death. I will never leave you, not even in death. I will always watch over you.”

“Ike, that’s—”

“I promised you forever. And I will give that to you.” He buried his face in Soren’s neck so the sage wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes. Loving Soren was the only thing that mattered. Staying by his side for the rest of their lives, watching over him in the afterlife until finally, decades, perhaps even centuries later, Soren would join him. They both knew it would be that way but it remained unspoken between them. “I am so, so madly in love with you that I can’t stand the thought of doing anything else.”

“I love you.” Soren was choking up now too. “You’re so _stupid_ , saying things like that.”

“But you love it,” Ike murmured. He kissed the side of Soren’s neck and gave an experimental thrust. Soren groaned softly and Ike felt the sage’s cock already hardening between them. “Let me make love to you one more time. We’ll come together this time. Perfect harmony.”

“I love you,” Soren repeated. He squeezed Ike. “I will always love you, Ike.”

“And I will always love you.” Gently he kissed Soren’s lips. “’Til death and forevermore.”

“I am so very lucky to be married to you,” Soren breathed. “Let them all have their fantasies about you; I have the real thing.”

“I love you,” Ike breathed.

“I love you too,” Soren replied.

They moved together as they had before. Soren’s nails dug into Ike’s back and he nipped sharply at the sage’s neck every time Soren looked as though he was nearing completion. Twice he nearly came but he forced it back, slowing until he regained control of his senses. Then Soren was groaning his name and Ike let go, thrusting hard and deep and fast. Soren bit down on his shoulder and Ike let out a cry and they finally came together. Ike squeezed Soren and then rolled off of the sage. They were both sticky with sweat and semen and Ike absently reached for his cape, using it to clean them as best he could. Then he curled around Soren and kissed the sage’s hair.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you so very much.”

“I love you too,” Soren replied. His words were slurring together; he sounded just as tired as Ike felt. Ike breathed in the scent of sweat and sex and Soren, pulled the sage ever closer, and finally drifted off.

())CRAYOLA))> 

‘Til death was coming too quickly.

Not that the morning and afternoon hadn’t been, at the very least, pleasant. Even the war meeting hadn’t been half-bad, despite the knowledge that Ena would only help them when it seemed to suit her. Nasir was quick to leap to her defence, though, and who could blame him? She was his grandchild, after all.

And they’d found Leanne. The news had been so great that Reyson had done _something_ and they all felt nothing but pure joy for a split second. Then the heron flushed and they had a laugh about it and moved out.

And now, things were looking rather bad.

Because it wasn’t bad enough that nightfall was coming and that the reinforcements from Phoenicis would be literally fighting blind once the darkness hit. And it certainly wasn’t bad enough that Daein was throwing warped Goldoans at them. And Soren’s Elthunder was rapidly running out of spells, his Elfire already discarded some fifty yards behind him. And Ike was wounded and completely surrounded by the Feral. That certainly didn’t help matters at all. He was bleeding from a deep gash across his cheeks, one eye bruised. His clothing was burned away in places and his skin was blistered, bleeding. His left wrist didn’t look quite right and Soren noted that Ike was favouring it as best he could.

Soren’s eyes narrowed; _nobody_ would take Ike away from him.

The spell was strong already and he let the spirits tear through him, stealing his air and strength all in one blow. Then he focussed, willing every last ounce of magic he had in reserve forward. Electricity jumped from his fingertips, crackling in the air around them, making his hair stand on end. Ike ducked just in time to avoid the swipe of a tiger and caught claws from a hawk across his back. He fell and Soren lashed out fully, whispering the spirits’ protection over Ike and promising death to the creatures that surrounded him.

When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but charred grass and bare earth surrounding them. Ike lay in the dirt, bleeding out and straining for breath.

A hand gently touched Soren’s shoulder. He turned and saw Rhys smiling, a Mend in one hand.

“I don’t know if I can save him by myself,” the bishop murmured. Soren nodded and placed his hands over Rhys’, just as they had the very first time Soren had used a staff. Magic pushed through him and he focussed on Ike. After a moment Ike’s breathing evened and his blue eyes cracked open. Soren smiled at him.

“Idiot,” he breathed. “How could you make me worry this much a mere day after you promised me forever?”

Ike sat up and kissed him. He tasted of blood and dirt and lightning. “Because you’ve sprained an ankle and your Elfire is out of spells. You’re making me worry just as badly.”

Rhys laughed and left them, saying something about the tower being taken and that Stefan needed healing. Ike wrapped his arms around Soren and dug in his bags for an Elixir. He took a swig and then kissed Soren, sharing the last dosage. There was a heavy snap as Ike’s wrist moved back into place and Soren flinched as his sprain healed itself. Then Soren stood and offered a hand to Ike. The swordsman laughed and accepted and Soren dragged him to his feet.

“We’ve won. We must find Leanne.”

But the search proved futile. The only sign they found was a single white feather in a windowless room at the top of the tower. Reyson had clenched his fists and cursed in Ancient and Tibarn had looked just the slightest bit worried as he gathered the heron into his arms and murmured that it would be alright. Soren frowned; something didn’t seem right about this.

“Hello, everyone. Having some sort of problem?”

Ike made a face. “King Kilvas. How nice.”

The crow sighed heavily. “And here I thought you’d be glad to see me. Haven’t I brought who you’re looking for?”

Leanne poked her head out from behind him and Naesala grinned. Reyson hurried forward and swept his sister up in his arms, both of them chattering excitedly in Ancient. Soren breathed a sigh of relief; the last thing they needed was for Reyson to be panicking about his sister’s condition when he could be using his energy to fight instead.

And then Soren looked away. Tibarn was kissing Naesala in front of _everyone_ , drawing surprised murmurs and a sigh from Reyson and causing Leanne to burst into giggles.

“Are we really that… _bad_?” Soren asked Ike. The swordsman shrugged and caught his hand.

“In all likelihood.”

Nasir chose that moment to appear. His brow was furrowed and his face was pale.

“Would you all come below? We just discovered a hidden staircase.”

Ike frowned. “Are you alright?”

Nasir shook his head. “I…I must show you.”

As soon as they opened the door to the basement, Lethe took one sharp intake of breath and then fled, Jill following close behind her. Janaff’s arm settled around Ranulf and they entered together. The cat tensed but didn’t run. His eyes narrowed and he growled.

“What is this?”

“It is…corruption.”

“Nasir!” The cat lunged forward and caught Nasir by the collar. Ena smacked his hand away and glared at him defiantly.

“Laguz. At one time, they were laguz. Do you think you are the only one angered by this!?”

They started shouting at one another but Soren paid them no mind. It stank of blood, of medicine down here. Corpses twisted beyond recognition, limbs dangling from meat hooks on the ceiling. Stacks of bones, vials of blood and other fluids Soren dared not identify. He felt dizzy and swayed but Ike caught him and pulled him close. Soren buried his face in the other man’s chest and inhaled deeply. Anything to cleanse this stench from his nostrils.

“Are you alright?” Ike asked. Soren bit his lip.

“If…if I had been full-blooded, would this have been me? There is no way to justify this. This hatred of another race, enough to tear them to pieces while they still live and set them upon one another. It is far beyond nauseating.” He took in a deep breath to steady himself. “You must kill this man. If nothing else, to avenge the lives of all these people.

Ike chuckled. “A year ago, you wouldn’t have cared.”

“A year ago I had not had to fight alongside another one of my kind, or alongside any of the laguz. And no creature deserves this sort of pain.” Soren’s nails bit into his palms. “You must end this, Ike. I will do everything in my power to see you through until the end.”

“I love you,” Ike breathed. “Help me win, Soren.”

“As you wish.”


	27. Endgame: Preparation

Boots crunched on the gravel behind him. Someone was sliding down the embankment off the road, shouting to someone else as they went. Boyd didn’t bother looking to see who it was; he knew that it was probably Rolf or Oscar, the former intent on harassing him and the latter intent on a lecture.

But instead of words, someone settled on the ground with him. He still didn’t bother looking. He knew. Bastian was the only person who really sat with him like this. Ulki was usually too busy being all lovey-dovey with Rhys and Mist was off with Ike and Soren and Leanne. And Boyd didn’t understand _why_ , either; it wasn’t as though he was particularly interesting. But, then again, once you stole someone’s pants and then made a day of chasing each other through camp, it left a lasting impression.

“What is it that’s troubling you?”

Boyd sighed. Bastian _would_ be the only person to harass him about this, too. Oscar left him alone and Rolf was too young to understand. Mist claimed he was just plain _stupid_ and had the emotional capabilities of a boulder.

The noble turned and looked at him expectantly. Boyd ground his teeth. At this point he had no choice but to spill his thoughts, because Bastian was the sort to follow him and glean as much information as he could.

“I’m confused,” Boyd finally said. “About all of this. The wedding. I stood there and I watched it and even though I wanted to be completely disgusted by it I couldn’t be. They’re both men and they went through with it anyways. It’s a first for this whole damned continent. And I couldn’t help but see how in love they are with each other. And what blows my mind completely is that nobody here _cares_. Ike and Soren both love the cock and nobody here will condemn them for it. And they probably wouldn’t care even if everyone else _did_ hate them.”

“Congratulations,” Bastian chuckled. “You are now in the process of accepting homosexuals.” The count waited for a reply but Boyd gave none. He continued. “I’ve no hints as to why you would find yourself so concerned over a lack of fear, nor why you would wish to condemn your fellows at the hour of their happiness. Love is love, is it not? The language of passion and—”

Boyd threw a pebble at him. “If you’re going to get all fancy with your talking, then leave. I’m not here to listen to someone I can’t understand.”

The blonde sighed. “Look, you. You’re being completely irrational about all of this. I can think of no reason for you to try and see something other than love in what Ike and Soren have.”

“Because—!”

Boyd didn’t finish; this was too personal. Bastian had no right to know.

A hand met his shoulder. Gentle and warm. Like a brother’s touch.

“Because…?”

“Because I grew up in a place where being that way was considered the most unspeakable of sins.”

“I…” Bastian frowned. “I’m not entirely sure that I follow. Surely you’re more intelligent than the rest of humanity. Let them follow their leaders blindly; are you not capable of seeing and feeling with your own eyes and heart?”

The warrior ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging beads of sweat. He looked to the highway; the army was nearly done passing through. Boyd got to his feet and offered a hand to Bastian. The noble accepted and Boyd pulled him to his feet.

“If we hurry we can make it back to the middle. I’ll tell you while we walk.”

Bastian nodded and Boyd sighed. Was it really worth telling? He looked at the blonde doubtfully. Bastian merely smiled.

“I ask because I worry that you will not tell anyone else what has caused you to become so troubled. Speaking is good for the heart and you may find yourself feeling uplifted afterward.”

“I doubt it.” Still, though, he had nothing better to do. And would it really matter? He wouldn’t see Bastian after a few more days anyways, and the noble would be quick to forget him. Rich people always did.

“Twenty gold says so.”

 _That_ caught his attention. Boyd grinned, bit the inside of his lip, and then began.

“Look, back when I was still a kid, my best friend was at my house constantly. It was just the two of us and Rolf one night because Mum had stepped out and Dad was away on business of some sort. I was…eleven? Rolf would have been six at the time. Anyways, Rolf had gone to bed and Zayle and I were getting tired, so we decided to hit the hay. We stole Oscar’s room because his bed was big enough for the two of us to share, rather than Zayle sleeping on the floor.” Boyd sighed. “He was my best friend. We’d known each other forever, and it was hot, and we were _kids_ and didn’t see anything wrong with what we were doing. Summers in Crimea get horribly hot and we ended up kicking the blankets off and stripping as close to naked as we could without it being awkward.

“I don’t really know what happened. In the morning I remember being dragged outside, still in nothing but my underpants. Zayle was shouting from somewhere behind me. It was our mother that was dragging me, going on and on about how she knew I was a fag, she just _knew_ it from the moment she laid eyes on me. And she was getting the attention of all the villagers as she went.

“She dragged us into the town square and everyone started lecturing us at that point. Telling us how fucked up we were. That two men could never be together because it angered the Goddess. And when Zayle tried to make a stand and tell them that we were _kids_ and how could we have known any better, they lashed out and started beating on both of us, saying that the world would be better off without two little faggots.”

Boyd drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. Bastian’s hand fell on his shoulder but he brushed it off.

“It was chance, or luck, or fate, or whatever the hell you want to call it. Oscar came home. He’d been planning to visit as soon as his regiment was nearby, and he and Kieran and a few other Royal Knights came through. I’ve never seen Oscar so angry. He grabbed me away from our mother and Kieran picked up Zayle while the rest of the knights kept the villagers away. Then we just rode. We couldn’t have gone home; they’d have burned the place down with us inside. Oscar rode us to an outpost and one of the valkyries set to work on healing us.” He swallowed. “But Zayle wasn’t moving and wasn’t waking up, no matter what she did. And an hour later, he died.

“Oscar snuck home just long enough to tell Dad what had happened. That our own mother had helped beat a child to death because she believed he was going to hell anyways. He was furious and from what I heard, she got a tongue-lashing.” Boyd sighed. “But he forgave her because he was just that kind of man. After he took sick and she refused to care for him, still he forgave her, saying that no woman would want to stay with an ill man, and that of course she was happier now that she’d left us and found someone healthy.

“I didn’t understand it at the time. Why any mother would beat her own child in front of an entire village because he’d slept in the same bed as another boy. And at eleven, what were _we_ supposed to know about sex and all that? I hardly knew about regular sex, much less…y’know.”

“Anal,” Bastian supplied. Boyd flushed.

“Yes. That.” The warrior groaned. “Look, it’s just a problem I have. It was drilled into me that people who liked the same sex went to hell, and that all they really wanted was to fuck and suck cock, and that they could never, ever have even a touch of love because if you were that horrible, you were incapable of loving. And when I started to have my suspicions about Oscar, I got really, _really_ concerned, because who wants to think that their big brother is going to hell?”

 “And then…?”

He smiled just slightly. “Then I saw Ike and Soren yesterday. I mean, I see them all the time. And I’ve always thought that Ike was a great guy, even though I knew he and Soren were going at it constantly. I figured that Ike was just pent-up and that Soren just didn’t care, y’know? But yesterday I really saw it. Ike would do anything for Soren at any given moment. They’re so insanely in love that it’s overwhelming. You can see it when they’re together, even if they’re not touching, or if they’re in battle, or arguing over tactics, or whatever. And I was taught that something like that wasn’t possible for them, because they’re queer.”

“So you’ve been told something for your entire developmental period, and now you find yourself trapped between two opinions. The voice that condemns and the voice that accepts. Correct?”

Boyd rolled his eyes. “What are you, a thought doctor?”

“I prefer the term ‘psychiatrist’. I do believe it will be quite an impressive term once it catches on.”

Boyd couldn’t help chuckling at that. For several minutes they walked in silence, listening to the soldiers around them chatting about nothing and inhaling the scents of dust and steel. Finally Bastian spoke.

“You know…it says nowhere in any of the Holy Texts that two men cannot be together. In the original, unaltered versions, those written in Ancient, it merely says that the Goddess wants us to love one another. Not who to love. She has placed no limits there. Simply _to_ love. Whether you’re interested in men or women or not interested in romance at all, She will approve, even if the mortals of this world do not.”

“Now you’re just bullshitting to make me feel better.”

“Ask your bishop, then. He speaks a touch of Ancient and I’m sure he would tell you the same. And would any holy man who feared the Goddess properly really go against Her word so readily?”

“I guess not.”  

Bastian sighed. “Whatever it is that you choose, don’t fret so much about the small things. Sexual orientation is something that is different for everyone. And even if I’m wrong and this entire army is going to hell in a handbasket, at least _you_ don’t have to worry.” Boyd raised an eyebrow and the count chuckled. “Anyone can see how you are around the General’s sister. And a lovely couple you would make, too.”

“She’s five years younger than me. She’s still a _kid_.”

“But blossoming into a fine young lady, certainly worth pursuing if one has the patience to do so.” Bastian grinned. “Do as your heart tells you is right, not as society does. Again: you do not seem like the sort to follow along with society’s petty norms. Whether you accept all of this or not is up to you and how you feel in your heart. Go talk to Rhys should you still have your doubts.”

“Bastian.”

“Mm?”

Boyd hesitated. “…thank you.”

“Any time you need it, dearest Boyd.” The count paused. “…so long as you reassure me that my pants will remain intact from this day forward.”

They laughed at that. Boyd held out a hand and Bastian shook it.

“Deal.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

Janaff was inexhaustible.

Ranulf was _convinced_ of it at this point. They’d both been up half the night drinking and celebrating with everyone else on Ike and Soren’s wedding night. And last night and the night before, Janaff hadn’t stopped pestering Ranulf about what it was that he’d given Ike and Soren, so finally Ranulf had caved in and given Janaff what couldn’t have even been described as a _taste_. A few drops of the stuff that he’d passed to the hawk through a kiss, to ensure that Janaff wouldn’t get too much of a good thing. The aphrodisiac was something he’d picked up from a friend back home in Gallia, because the tiger could go for a _ridiculously_ long time and it just wasn’t _fair_ to Ranulf. And the stuff wasn’t _cheap_ , either; having Kyza buy a year’s worth for Ike and Soren and shipping it to their camp in Crimea had run Ranulf the better part of a month’s pay. Having his own little bit for the off-chance that maybe Janaff would want sex had cost him an additional twenty-five hundred gold.

And sure enough, a mark later, when they had been in their tent and half-naked and kissing, Janaff had turned bright red rather quickly and rolled over. Ranulf had chuckled and leaned over the hawk, kissing the skin between his wings, kissing the scar on his shoulder from where he’d been stabbed all those months ago. That had been what settled it. Janaff had groaned and whispered for Ranulf to please do _something_ because being this hard was painful. And Ranulf had rolled him over and kissed him and jerked him off slowly, relishing the way Janaff had gasped his name and bucked into his hand.

Twice he’d had to do it before Janaff was sated and briefly he had wondered if hawks were somehow more susceptible to the drug. And by the time Janaff had fallen asleep and Ranulf had relieved his own pressing needs, it was a mark past midnight and he would have perhaps four hours before waking up at dawn and marching to Melior.

And then in the morning, Janaff had been the first one awake, flushed and not looking at him the entire time they got dressed. Ranulf had groaned and wondered if Janaff ever did get tired, because not once had he seen the hawk in a state other than energetic.

Janaff landed on the ground next to him. The blonde wouldn’t make eye contact but his hand slid into Ranulf’s without a second thought and he smiled when Ranulf wound their elbows together.

“I love you,” Ranulf purred. “I really, really do.”

Janaff chuckled. He leaned his head on Ranulf’s shoulder. “I know. I love you too, idiot.”

“Idiot? Why idiot?”

Janaff laughed, looked around, and then dragged Ranulf off the main road. Ranulf started to ask what was going on but he didn’t have time to answer; Janaff had pushed him against a tree and was kissing him deeply. Finally he looked at Ranulf and the cat couldn’t help but think that the hawk’s dark eyes were gorgeous. Ranulf pulled him close and kissed him again, tongues pressing together and hands wandering and their hips slowly, gently grinding together. 

“You ought to be tired,” he murmured against Janaff’s lips. “Considering how late we stayed up last night.”

“I can go for days without sleep,” Janaff replied. “I’m still young, unlike you.”

Ranulf made a face. “So you’re younger by a decade. It’s hardly _my_ fault.”

“Is that why you carry that potion around with you? So you can keep up with me? You old fart; I should have known.”

“Shut up.”

Janaff laughed and burrowed into his neck, kissing him gently. Then he flushed. “Y’know…I’ve been thinking that I really ought to have returned the favour. Seeing as how you…y’know.”

“It was only twice,” Ranulf purred. He nipped at Janaff’s neck and felt the hawk grow harder. “My arm isn’t _that_ sore.”

“Ranulf!”

He couldn’t help laughing; Janaff was bright red, straight to the tips of his ears. Then he leaned down and kissed the younger man, slow and gentle.

“Look, I did that for two reasons. Firstly, because you asked what my potion was for and I let you try it, and afterwards you looked and smelled so desperate for some sort of release that I couldn’t help myself when you asked for it. Secondly, because I love you and I want to make you feel good in this little amount of time we have left together. I don’t need sex from you, but if it’s what you want I won’t say no, either.”

“So what about this, then?” Janaff slid a hand down and gripped Ranulf’s cock through his pants. The hawk grinned. “I do want to return the favour, and I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.”

Ranulf swallowed. “Are you sure?”

Janaff kissed him gently. “Yes. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel last night. And…it’s special, coming from someone you love. And so long as we don’t take much time, neither Gallia nor Phoenicis will notice.”

“Are you implying that I—ohhh, _Janaff_ …”

Janaff chuckled. “Yes?”

Ranulf would have glared if he’d had the mental capacity. Janaff had sunk to his knees and had Ranulf’s pants pulled down just enough, his sash discarded on the ground next to them. The hawk was hovering over his cock, stroking him and not quite letting his lips touch the head. Ranulf slid a hand into the hawk’s hair.

“You don’t have to,” he breathed. 

“I know.”

Then he was leaning in and licking the tip, making Ranulf bite his lip in anticipation. Janaff teased him for a while, short little licks on the underside of his cock, making Ranulf gasp every time he flicked over the head. And finally Janaff took the tip of his cock into his mouth and did something with his tongue that made Ranulf’s knees weak. His claws dug into the bark and he couldn’t help the way his grip tightened on the other man’s hair. Janaff groaned softly and he was taking more and more into his throat until Ranulf was sure that he would choke. But Janaff was fine, bobbing his head and using his hands on whatever his mouth couldn’t reach. And Goddess, he was _good_. Wherever he’d learned to do this, he’d learned well.

Ranulf couldn’t help it; when he came he was groaning Janaff’s name and his knees nearly gave out on him. And Janaff savoured it, swallowing and pulling off slowly, running his tongue one last time from root to tip and making the cat gasp. His eyes met Ranulf’s and he flushed.

“Alright?”

“Better than just alright,” Ranulf gasped. He hauled Janaff up and kissed him. He could taste his seed on the other man’s lips and he pulled Janaff close. “Goddess, where did you learn to do that?”

Janaff chuckled. “You don’t tell of your past escapades and I don’t tell of mine. Now get your pants up and let’s get back to the main army; I’m sure someone’s noticed that we’re missing.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ranulf sighed. “I hate that we have no time.”

“Well, we could have last night, if…” Janaff trailed off.

“If you hadn’t exhausted my right arm and then fallen asleep?” Ranulf couldn’t help laughing. “Relax; I wasn’t in the mood for sex anyways. Maybe once this is all done and over with, assuming we both survive.” He grinned. “I’ll pound you straight through the mattress. Don’t you worry.”

Janaff twisted out of his arms and smirked. “Who said _you_ would be on top, hmm? Just because I sucked you off doesn’t mean that I’ll bend over and let you take me. Now get your pants back on and let’s _go_.”

Before Ranulf could make a grab for him, Janaff had taken to the sky. He grinned, shouted something that Ranulf was _sure_ was dirty, and was gone.

Ranulf sighed. He’d never understand the blonde’s inexhaustible well of energy.

())CRAYOLA))> 

It was just ridiculous, at this point.

Because it wasn’t bad enough that Naesala and Tibarn had taken to each other like cats to catnip. Or that they’d spent most of the previous night curled in each other’s arms. Not that Reyson had been neglected. He’d been nestled against Tibarn’s back, face pressed between his wings and his hands pressed against the hard muscle of the hawk king’s chest and feeling the whispers of their hearts as they lay there together. But Tibarn and Naesala had been face-to-face, kissing and touching and sending off gentle waves of pleasure that could have escalated if they all hadn’t been so damned exhausted.

Tibarn was still infuriated, mostly at King Daein and partly at Naesala for his indifference. But Reyson could feel the crow king’s heart too. His face betrayed none of his emotions but he was just as sickened as the rest of them had been. And he’d pulled Naesala aside that morning and kissed him and held him without saying a word, just as he had with Tibarn. Naesala had muttered something under his breath and wandered off.

Reyson supposed that it was because they had both seen their countrymen in such warped states that they found solace in one another. It was something that Reyson couldn’t understand. He could imagine it, certainly. His sisters and brother killed from a drug that forced them past their limit. But even though he had spent years in Phoenicis and Kilvas, years with each country’s people, he couldn’t feel the anguish quite as strongly as the rest of the laguz did.

He supposed it was the only way he could justify it. Tibarn and Naesala were walking side-by-side, fingers entwined, not speaking a word to each other. Reyson was on the other side of Naesala, wings brushing together and his hair still in the braid Naesala had plaited it into that morning. And they were outright _ignoring_ him. And everyone else, he reminded himself, but the fact remained that they had always, _always_ paid attention to him.

And Leanne was off with Mist and Ike and Soren, the sage giving rough translations with the Ancient he knew. The girls were tittering and Ike was smirking and Soren looked almost _happy_ to have someone to speak to in Ancient.

Frustrated, he leaned in between the kings. Tibarn blinked and Naesala chuckled, letting go of the hawk and wrapping his arm around Reyson instead. Tibarn leaned in and kissed his temple.

“Your jealousy always was apparent,” he sighed.

“Not that we don’t love you for it,” Naesala murmured. His lips met Reyson’s cheek. “I’m sorry. We’ve been negligent.”

“You’re too quiet, that’s what you are,” Reyson replied. “It’s unnerving. Talk about something.”

“He means ‘pay attention to me’,” Tibarn said, chuckling. He gently nipped at the heron’s ear. Naesala’s hand slid down to his backside and squeezed. “I love you, Reyson.” His voice was a low purr. “The night that this is all finished. Once we’ve taken Crimea. I promise you that you will get nothing less than my full attention.”

Naesala frowned just slightly. “Come now, Tibarn. I deserve at least _some_ of your attention.”

Tibarn leaned over the heron to swat him. “We’ve had more than enough time together. Reyson deserves a night.” He chuckled. “And it wouldn’t kill you to just worship him for a night. I would be glad to stand by and simply _watch_.”

“Oh?” Reyson raised an eyebrow and grinned. “And would you only be watching? Or watching and pretending that you don’t have your pants undone and that you’re not jerking off?”

Tibarn flushed only slightly and Naesala cawed with laughter. “And besides, Tibarn, didn’t you just promise him that _you_ would be the one giving him your full attention? Make up your mind!”

Reyson couldn’t help chuckling and he kissed each of them in turn. “There. Isn’t that better than not saying a word and dwelling upon King Daein? I promise that you’ll each get as much time with me and each other as you like once this is over. If not tonight, then most certainly tomorrow. Ike seems uncertain that we’ll make it before nightfall.”

“I thought you couldn’t read anyone during times of such turmoil,” Tibarn pointed out. Reyson smiled and looked away.

“Being with the both of you helps far more than anything else. It’s why I get such clear pictures of your hearts. I love you both so much that I could never be anything but at peace with you. I truly believe that we belong together.”

“But I’m still the favourite, right?” Naesala chuckled. Reyson swatted him gently and Tibarn reached around him to punch the crow king.

“Yes, Naesala,” Tibarn said, laughing. “For me because I can do with you what I could never do with Reyson.”

“And for me because you have been there my whole life and I _love_ you, Naesala. More than I could ever tell you, more than I could ever show you even with my magic.” Reyson kissed him. “And you know exactly my limits and would never hurt me.”

“Are you implying that I _would_?” Tibarn asked. His voice was tense and Reyson shook his head.

“No. You were and are just as gentle a lover as anyone could ever expect of you. But you fear hurting me and as such don’t push for more.” Reyson caught his hand and squeezed. “I love you as well, Tibarn. You are both equals. But Naesala does not fear hurting me.”

“He should.”

Naesala rolled his eyes. “Do you know _why_ I don’t fear hurting Reyson?” His hand fell onto Reyson’s shoulder and squeezed.  “Because he is far stronger than you seem to think. He’s taken hits from snipers and been caught in Tornado magics and countless times I have seen him dart away from a blade that would have killed others. He’s had a ballista bolt go straight through his stomach, Tibarn. I know you’ve seen the scar; you’ve kissed the damned thing a thousand times.” Naesala’s eyes were hard but Reyson made no move to silence him. “If he can handle all of those and more, then he can certainly handle a good lay. And you seem to never want to give it to him the way he deserves from you.”

“It would break him,” Tibarn emphasized. “You are nowhere nearly as cautious as you should be.”

Reyson let out a frustrated groan and pulled away. “Do you know _why_ you’re so well-suited for each other? Because you can’t decide on _anything_! I will _tell_ you if I’m hurt and until then you need to stop _worrying_! That’s the reason I love Naesala more!”

Tibarn looked hurt but at this point Reyson didn’t care; Tibarn was fussy and selfish when it came to relationships anyways. It wouldn’t _kill_ him to have someone speak their mind now and again. He worried too much about Reyson being hurt and it would do him some good to feel what it was to truly hurt, if not for only a moment.

Naesala’s heart let out a cold wash of displeasure and he stopped walking. His hand caught Reyson’s. “Tibarn. I believe you’ve outstayed your welcome here. Should you happen to rethink the way you treat the man I’m in love with, we will _consider_ speaking to you after all this is done.”

“I thought you loved _me_ as well. Or was that all bullshit?”

“Enough, Tibarn.” Reyson drew himself up to his full height. “I’m sick of listening to both of you argue. I’ll be with Leanne if you wish to speak to me, Naesala.”

“And what of me?”

“I don’t want to speak to _you_ at _all._ You do nothing but underestimate my strength and then you have the nerve to speak of me as though I’m not standing next to you. _I_ will speak to _you_ , and only if _I_ decide to.”

“Naesala did the same.”

“Naesala at least acknowledged me by speaking my name and touching me. You would do neither. I am _finished_ with you right now, Tibarn.”

When they were a reasonable distance away, Naesala slowed to a stop and then pulled him close. People gave them looks but the crow king ignored them. Reyson sighed into the other man’s shoulder and squeezed him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he murmured. “I love you, Naesala. I really, really do. But having him speak of me as though I’m not there hurts. More than it should. I don’t want him angry with me but I don’t want him to treat me as though I’m going to break at any moment.”

“He worries because of the incident with Duke Tanas,” Naesala replied. His voice was soft and his hands massaged gentle circles into Reyson’s back. “He worries because he has not been with you for this entire war and because he has never stopped loving you or worrying about you. Even I can see that.”

“I don’t need to be treated so delicately. That’s why I love it when you take me, Naesala. You don’t concern yourself with holding back. You have pushed me to my limit and I _love_ it. And Tibarn is wrong to be angry at us for doing so.”

“Tibarn loves you more than life itself, just as you do for him.” Naesala chuckled softly. “Don’t think I can’t see it; you claim you love me more but we are at the very least equals.”

“I don’t—”

Naesala kissed him. “Reyson. I want your happiness. If that means going back to Phoenicis after all of this is over, then so be it. I cannot be angry with you for choosing what will make you happy.”

“I want to go to Kilvas. I belong with _you_ , Naesala. I love you because you are patient and you don’t worry nearly as much as Tibarn does.”

“And you love Tibarn because he worries about your well-being and would fight to the death to protect you. Not that I wouldn’t,” the king added, “but he would never stop following you if he could help it. And I need time to myself sometimes.”

“As do I. You suit me far better than Tibarn does sometimes. You know what it means to need time alone and that I won’t break if pushed in the wrong direction. You’re smart and kind and funny, even if your sense of humour is a touch depraved sometimes.” Reyson smiled and leaned in to kiss the crow. “And you are exactly what I have always wanted in a partner. Someone who can give me my space and take care of me all at the same time.”

“And someone who can take care of your needs in bed,” Naesala murmured, grinning. “Someone who will let _you_ pound him into the mattress instead of the other way around. I don’t think that Tibarn would be interested in being dominated by one of the heron clan, no matter how much he loves you. But I, on the other hand…”

Reyson felt himself flushing at the memory. “Naesala, that’s hardly—”

“I love you,” the crow king said, giving him that familiar crooked smile. “If you truly want to come to Kilvas when all of this is finished, I would be glad to have you. And Leanne as well, and your father. But I make no promises that I would be any better than Tibarn; Kilvas would not necessarily be good for any of you. We’re pirates.”

“I know.”

Naesala leaned down to kiss him again. More deeply this time, tongues moving together and hands wandering. “Then you will. I’ll personally make the arrangements.”

Reyson hesitated. How did he explain this, exactly?

Naesala sighed. “But you still want Tibarn as well.”

“I…yes. I do.”

“Then I’ll come visit you in Phoenicis. It’s not that far to fly. Half a mark at the most.” Naesala smiled. “That way we don’t have to move your father and Leanne can be right on the ocean. The food there is better for you anyways.” He chuckled. “And if Tibarn is still interested in continuing what we have going on, Phoenicis is also more ideal. Fewer people listening in and beds big enough to fit three men of royal blood.”

Reyson couldn’t help laughing at that and squeezed Naesala as tightly as he could. The taller man kissed him again, deeply, passionately. They’d been left behind by the army at this point but it was nothing a moment of flying wouldn’t make up for. Naesala’s lips trailed down to his throat and Reyson groaned as the crow placed a sucking kiss over his Adam’s apple.

“I love you,” he breathed. Not a half-second later he felt Naesala’s heart whispering to him.

 _And I will always love you_.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“I’m hungry.”

Sothe rolled his eyes. “You’re always hungry.”

Tormod pouted. “Don’t make that face at me. We’ve been marching all day and I ran out of snacks half a mark ago.”

The thief’s expression didn’t change. He dug around in his pockets and fished out a hard bun and some jerky. “Here,” he muttered, tossing them to Tormod. The sage smiled and kissed his cheek and Sothe couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you,” Tormod replied. He tore into the jerky. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” the thief replied. He leaned against Tormod’s shoulder. “I’m just tired.”

“Baloney.” Tormod gave him a look. “Come on, I know you better than that. What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” Sothe insisted.

“I can’t read minds, Sothe. You of all people should know this.” When the sage didn’t answer, he let out a frustrated groan and smacked him in the back of the head. Sothe glared at him.

“It’s nothing _important_ ,” he muttered. “Just…just keep marching, Tormod.”

Something in the sage seemed to snap. Tormod’s green eyes narrowed and he dragged the thief to the edge of the highway.

“Listen, you,” he growled, struggling to keep hold of Sothe. “You never tell me a goddessdamned _thing_. All through this war I’ve sat and not said a word to you when you’re being miserable and hoping that just _maybe_ you’ll decide to open up to me. But you never fucking _do_. And when I _do_ finally snap and ask you to talk to me you just shrug me off like I’m not important. Is that what it is? That you’ve finally gotten laid and now you’re sick of me?” He was flushed now, holding back tears. It couldn’t be _true_ ; Sothe had told him that at the very least he would not abandon him this way.

“I’m sick of you harassing me,” the thief replied.

“I only do it because you won’t talk to anyone. It’s like you’ve divided the world up into the people you grew up with and everybody else. And you’ve forced me in with everyone else. I know that I’m not from Daein, and that I haven’t grown up in the slums, running from authorities, but give me more credit than _that_. Since the moment I could run I’ve been helping free slaves. I’ve slept in sewers and cellars and Ashera Herself only knows what else. I’ve had my left arm _snapped_ , Sothe, not just broken. I’ve killed hundreds of people and seen Muarim do the same. I’ve stolen food to keep myself alive just as you have.”

“I don’t _care_.”

Tormod huffed. “Apparently. Why are you doing this to me?”

Sothe groaned and finally wrenched himself from Tormod’s grasp. “Because you make me _crazy_ , that’s why!”

“ _I_ make _you_ crazy?! At least I _talk_ to you!”

Sothe let out a frustrated growl and stormed off. Tormod clenched his fists; this was how it had to be. Sothe would leave and then cool down and then come back apologizing in a mark or two. It was always this way.

A hand settled on the back of his neck, squeezing gently.

“Little one.”

Ice flooded Tormod’s veins. Muarim had hardly _looked_ at him for the past two weeks, much less spoken to him. A touch was completely out of the question. He looked up, half-expecting a blow. But the tiger’s eyes were gentle and his lips were curved into a half-smile. Tormod tentatively reached up to him and Muarim pounced, tackling him to the ground and cushioning the blow as he always did. They rolled, sending people scattering around them. When they finally stopped they were covered in dust and Ashera knew what else and laughing. Tormod buried his face in Muarim’s neck and the tiger squeezed him, inhaling deeply.

“I’m sorry.” It was so soft that anyone else would have missed it. Tormod nuzzled his cheek against Muarim’s neck.

“I know,” he breathed. “I forgive you. I love you, Muarim. I’m sorry I made you angry.”

“You worry me. I…there are many things you don’t know.”

“Your idiot masters hurt you. That’s what I know.” Tormod’s voice cracked and he breathed in Muarim’s scent. Sand and fur and the flowers that grew near their home. “They…they you-know. Like Vika.”

Muarim grunted and squeezed him. “Like Vika.”

Tormod pulled away just enough to press his forehead against his father’s. Muarim purred softly, his chest rumbling against Tormod’s. The sage smiled.

“I wish I could do that.”

They laughed and Muarim squeezed him again. “I don’t know what’s happening between you and that thief. But you’ve seemed far happier with him than without him. I…I was irrational.”

“I love him so much,” Tormod murmured. “I know you don’t get it. I wish you did. But I really, really love him. Even though we argue sometimes. He’s never hurt me, Muarim. Not once. He always listens to what I have to say and if I’ve ever…not wanted to…you-know…he’s never ever pushed for it.”

“I’m happy for you, then.” Muarim smiled and stood, pulling the redhead to his feet. “Smile like you always do and he’ll come around.”

Tormod grinned and the tiger rumpled his hair just as he always had before. “So…so we’re okay, then?”

Muarim chuckled. “Yes, little one.” 

())CRAYOLA))>

Halfway through a sentence, Soren collapsed.

Leanne reached out to catch him without a second thought, struggling against his weight. The sage made a motion that looked as though he were trying to get back to his feet, but they slid out from underneath him, nearly taking them both to the ground. Ike stepped forward and gently pulled the sage from Leanne’s arms.

“Thank you,” he murmured in Ancient. It wasn’t perfect; he’d had a hard time learning just the simple phrases of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, but Leanne seemed to understand. Her hands fell onto his shoulders as he knelt in the dust, clutching Soren to his chest. The sage’s breathing was ragged, his skin pale. Ashera, he’d been talking so animatedly a moment ago, on the verge of smiling. What had happened?

Their march had come to a halt now. Mist was on her knees next to them in an instant. The back of her hand met Soren’s cheek and she hissed.

“Ashera, how was he even walking?” Her eyes met Ike’s. “Feel him; he’s burning up.”

Ike leaned down and pressed his lips to Soren’s brand. Too hot for a regular fever, even for Soren, who had always had it as badly if not worse than the rest of them. Leanne’s hand met Soren’s cheek and she jerked away, screaming for her brother and the kings. Soren groaned and struggled against Ike’s arms.

“I’m fine,” he breathed. “I just…Ike…”

“Shut up,” Ike murmured. “Stay awake with me, Soren.” Gently he kissed Soren. The sage’s skin was burning hot. “Come now, you’re stronger than this.” He smiled. “Come on. We’ll get Rhys here and he’ll give you an antidote and you’ll be just fine.”

Soren’s eyes didn’t open but his lips curved upwards only slightly. “Don’t lie to yourself, Ike. I’m sick. I’m probably dying. Someone’s slipped something into the food, or the water, or _something_. They think you will be nothing without your tactician. Prove them wrong.”

“You are not going to die,” Ike breathed, but the possibility had already seized him. “You’re going to be checked over by Leanne and Rhys and you’re going to be treated and in an hour or two we’ll be up and marching again. Understand? I will not let you be taken from me so easily.”

“Don’t be a fool, Ike.” Soren turned his head and let his cheek press against the leather of Ike’s armour. He inhaled deeply and finally he was smiling, truly smiling. “You cannot stop something like this. Not without knowing exactly what has happened.”

Someone else dropped into the dust beside them. Ranulf. The cat inhaled deeply and wrinkled his nose.

“Goddess, that’s dreadful,” he murmured. “Who would even be able to _buy_ this? It’s a fortune.”

Ike glanced up sharply. “Buy _what_ , Ranulf?”

The cat shook his head. “If…if it’s what I _think_ it is, it’s poison. It’s produced in Begnion and Daein, mostly.” He inhaled again. “It’s the basis of the medicine that warped my brothers and sisters from Gallia. Not exactly the same. This is meant only to kill.” Ranulf frowned. “Since you’re half laguz—” Soren inhaled sharply; Ranulf ignored him, “—then it’s bound to affect you more slowly.”

“How much do you know?” Soren asked. “About the poison.”

“On a full-blooded tiger or cat, it would kill within a few marks of time. Perhaps twelve. The birds are more susceptible to poisons; the dragons less.” Ranulf sighed. “Whoever bought this _knew_ what you are. They’re relying on your suffering.” He reached for Soren and thought better of it. “I’m so sorry, Soren.”

And now Rhys was beside them as well, Mist latched onto his arm and Ulki standing a few paces behind them. Leanne was nearby, face buried in Naesala’s chest. Reyson and Tibarn hovered, observing. Soren’s brow furrowed; he’d always hated attracting attention to himself.

“Well, there’s no sense in sitting here being depressed,” Rhys finally said. His face was soft as it always was. “Come on, let’s put our heads together and see what we can sort out.”

())CRAYOLA))>

It wasn’t _jealousy_ , exactly.

Because why would Shinon be jealous of a bunch of _girls_? It wasn’t like they even had the slightest chance with Gatrie (or at least that was what Shinon kept telling himself). Because Gatrie had let Astrid down easy and told her that he was seeing someone else, and told Marcia thanks-but-I’m-taken, and generally been very good about this whole situation. And it wasn’t his _fault_. He was just Mr. Nice Guy, lending out money and taking them for dinner and helping with whatever practice it was that they needed.

And he had Marcia on one side and Astrid on the other and Mia and Ilyana behind him, and they were all chatting and laughing and Marcia was punching him on the arm after he’d said something. Shinon was a ways behind them and gritting his teeth and trying very _hard_ not to be jealous. Gatrie deserved some time with his other friends, right? And it wasn’t like he was going to grab Ilyana and sweep her off her feet and run off.

Shinon felt his left eye twitch when exactly that happened. The sage was in his arms and giggling while Mia shouted something after him as he ran. If it could be called running; he’d taken a sword to the leg years and years ago and Rhys hadn’t been able to heal him all the way.

But it was all in good fun, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as though Gatrie would ever choose some floozy over _him_.

Still, he couldn’t help wanting to interfere, just in case.

So Shinon loosened his collar just enough. He knew what his neck looked like and exactly how many bites would be visible. They were faint; Gatrie was always far gentler than need be. But having his throat a mess wouldn’t do anyways. And this would at least get the message across.

And Mia immediately began giggling as soon as he ran past her, shouting for Gatrie to run. The knight turned and grinned and slowed down and as soon as Shinon was within a few paces he tossed Ilyana at him. The sage shrieked and latched onto his neck and Shinon sighed as he deposited her on the ground.

“Really, is this how you plan to leave me? By kidnapping a mage?” He made a face. “I thought you were more creative than that.”

Gatrie chuckled. “Come now, I could never leave you.” He took a step forward and looped his arms around Shinon’s neck. “You know I love you.”

Shinon felt his face heating. “Then quit kidnapping pretty girls. It sends mixed messages.”

And then Gatrie kissed him in front of _everyone_ , leaving no doubts whatsoever about their relationship. Mia whistled and Astrid and Marcia burst into giggles and Ilyana shuffled awkwardly. And Shinon would have complained, except that this was Gatrie and the knight was holding him and kissing him as gently and as passionately as he did when they were alone together. Shinon couldn’t help moaning and wrapping his arms around the blonde and all the doubt and envy that had been in his mind was gone.

“I love you, stupid,” Gatrie murmured against his lips. “I might flirt a little with the girls but it means nothing to any of us. You know that I love you. I told you that I’d stay with you.” The blonde grinned. “Even if you’ve got no money to afford rings.”

“You know what that _implied,_ don’t you?”

Gatrie’s voice lowered and he said it softly enough so that only Shinon would hear. “If I’m not mistaken, it implied that you’d like to have the kind of relationship that Ike and Soren do. Only without the public affection, or the ceremony, or any of that nonsense.”

“I…” Shinon felt his cheeks colouring and he buried his face in the blonde’s neck. “Yes.”

“And I would be more than happy to.” Gatrie squeezed him. “Idiot. Give me credit where it’s due; I’m not _that_ stupid.”

“I can’t help but wonder sometimes.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

“You’re walking funny.”

Oscar laughed as he said it. Kieran whipped around to glare at him. His horse nudged his shoulder and he absently gave it a carrot. He continued walking with the slightest of limps.

“It’s entirely your fault,” the redhead retorted. “Giving me that much wine and then taking me to bed. And how could anyone say no to _you_? It’s like you’re the embodiment of—of—of good sex!”

Oscar burst out laughing at that point and nearly fell out of his saddle. “Well, if you didn’t _love_ being on the bottom so much we wouldn’t have this problem, would we? I certainly wouldn’t say no. You _know_ I wouldn’t say no either. But things always end up this way.” He leaned down and rumpled Kieran’s hair. “You really ought to get on your horse. People will wonder.”

“Everybody _knows_ ,” the axe knight replied. “This whole damned camp knows about us and about every other couple. Word gets out.” Kieran looked away. “And it hurts to ride.”

“It didn’t seem to last night.”

Kieran’s face turned bright red and Oscar laughed again. He dismounted and wrapped an arm around Kieran’s shoulders. The redhead sighed and leaned into his touch. Oscar leaned over and gently kissed his temple.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I’m sorry that you’re in pain.”

Finally Kieran chuckled. “With new positions comes new potential for pain.”

Oscar kissed him again. “But…shouldn’t Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran of the Crimean Royal Knights be on his horse? Regardless of pain? When we first found you, you were going on about having your fingernails torn out and your belly stuck with needles. What’s happened to the eccentricities?”

“I’ve been with _you_ too long,” Kieran muttered. “I haven’t experienced much pain because you’re always fighting right next to me. I barely remember the feel of a blade piercing my armour or magic sweeping through me. I’ve gone _soft_ , that’s what’s happened.”

Oscar couldn’t help laughing again. “And you probably haven’t ever had someone doing exactly what I did to you last night, either.”

Kieran flushed an even deeper shade of crimson and vaulted onto his horse in one fluid movement. He muttered something about how he felt better and then was gone in a heartbeat. Oscar stared after him and then chuckled. He’d always been too easy to provoke, and the knowledge that he was insanely shy about matters of a sexual nature provided far too many opportunities. And he was adorable when he was flushed and not looking Oscar in the eye and hurrying away.

Finally Oscar caught up to him. Kieran didn’t look at him and Oscar sighed.

“You know that you don’t need to be embarrassed,” he murmured. “It’s just _me_.”

“We’re _marching_ ,” Kieran emphasized. “People will _hear_ you.”

“I’m keeping quiet. And anyone who doesn’t hear me will most certainly have heard _you_. Particularly last night and this morning. And despite all that I fail to see how it _matters_ , because everyone here is more understanding than anyone _should_ be. So quit whining and relax. Nobody’s heard you; nobody’s heard me. The people who do know about us have kept it to themselves and that’s the end of it.” Oscar leaned over in his saddle and caught the redhead’s hand. “Alright? It’s fine.”

“It’s not _fine_ ,” Kieran hissed. “You’re completely—”

“Head over heels in love with a man who is far more than I ever could have hoped for in my wildest dreams,” Oscar interrupted. “Are you quite finished?”

Kieran flushed and looked away, muttering something. Oscar lifted the paladin’s hand to his lips.

“I didn’t catch that,” he murmured.

“ _Yes_ ,” Kieran emphasized. “Stupid squinty cowardly—”

“I love you,” Oscar breathed. He looked up and smiled. Kieran’s eyes caught his and the axeman muttered something else under his breath. Then he sighed and smiled.

“I know you do,” he murmured. “Even though you’re an idiot with no sense of what is and is not appropriate.”

“Love makes you stupid.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

When Tormod came across them his face was pale. Muarim was a ways behind him, fists clenched. The redhead had a vial of something clutched in one hand.

“It’s…it’s what they use in Begnion,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “To…to kill the slaves. We found it on the highway and thought you should know.”

Ranulf’s tail lashed and he squeezed Tormod’s shoulder. “How do you know the poison?”

“It’s all over Begnion,” Tormod growled. “All the nobles have it. It’s sold in high-class stores. People only bother hiding the fact that they sell it when there’s authority nearby. But even they don’t always care.” He sniffled and Muarim lifted the sage into his arms, drawing him close.

“Little one—”

“There’s…it kills quickly,” Tormod continued. “It’s…we’ve never found an antidote, but since it doesn’t affect beorc it doesn’t matter. They mix it with the food and everyone eats and then the slaves are as good as dead. If Soren’s…Parentless, then…then that’s why he’s gotten sick.”

Ike’s brow furrowed and he drew a half-conscious Soren close. “He’s not parentless. And he’s fine. Even he’s half laguz, he’s still half beorc and he’s too stubborn to die.” He paused. “And if it’s sold in high-class stores how could anyone _here_ afford it? We’ve been paid well but not _that_ well. No soldier would be able to.”

Soren’s brow twitched and he murmured “Aimee,” and everything suddenly clicked.

It would make sense, wouldn’t it? The sudden increase in the prices of her goods as they entered Begnion and the way Soren had fallen ill two months later as they left Daein. Begnion produced the poison and supported the slaughter of the Branded. And Aimee had always seemed to hate him more than anything. Her lip curled when he entered her supply tent and she had done nothing but cause him trouble. And she had been scarce as of late, doing her business and then scurrying off. This was Aimee, who had done nothing but flirt with Ike for this entire endeavour.

“Janaff.” Ike didn’t need to see to know that Janaff was nearby; he and Ranulf were never far from each other.

“Sir.” The hawk’s voice came from somewhere behind him.

“Find Aimee. Get her here as quickly as you can.”

Janaff nodded, launching himself into the sky. He circled overhead for a moment, and then he transformed and dove sharply. Someone screamed and at once Janaff was visible again, hauling a protesting Aimee with him. She screamed the whole way and when Janaff finally deposited her on the ground she didn’t look at anyone.

“You know something.” That was Reyson, translating for Leanne. His brow furrowed as he looked at the shopkeeper. Leanne’s green eyes were hard as she glared at Aimee from behind her brother. “You…” he paused and looked hard at Aimee for a moment, “You did this and you _know_ it.”

Leanne said something angrily. Naesala burst out laughing and Soren smiled weakly. “Agreed,” the sage murmured. “Well? Start talking. What would make you sabotage us like this? You’re lucky if we don’t put you to death.”

“You’ve no proof,” Aimee snapped. “Even if I _had_ done something—which I haven’t—you have no way to prove that I’d done it in the first place. Leave me be this _instant_. I’ve more important things to do than fret about your sorry little staff officer.”

Something in Ike _snapped_. Wordlessly he handed Soren off to Mist and Rhys. In a second’s time he was on his feet, in two he had a hand around Aimee’s throat. Nobody else dared move. Aimee simply looked at him. When he spoke his voice was low.

“I would trust the words of Reyson and Leanne far before I would trust yours,” he growled. “You have done nothing but cause trouble for us from the beginning despite the way we’ve all made purchases from your shop. I am not some _thing_ to be won over with food and a low-cut shirt, despite your best efforts. You have interrupted the nights I’ve had alone with Soren as best you could for the past year and now you _dare_ to keep silent about something that so clearly has something to do with you?”

“You have no _proof_ ,” Aimee hissed.

“I would trust the words of two who can see into another’s heart.” Ike looked at the herons. “What do you see?”

“Guilt,” Reyson replied. “Even with all the madness around us, I can see it. Your heart is heavy with it.” His lips twisted into a smirk. “I can see everything you’ve done. Whoring yourself out for extra money and doing research on the Parentless and finally _buying_ that foul concoction in Begnion from a slave trader who used it to dispose of the useless ones.” The heron’s hands were shaking but he continued. “And then you had the nerve to slip it into Soren’s wine the night we took Talrega.”

“That was _months_ ago,” Aimee countered. “Wouldn’t he be dead by now if he’d been poisoned?”

“Poisoned by a potion made specifically to kill laguz?” Tibarn snorted. “Come now. You beorc aren’t affected the same way; that sort of potion would make you sick and nothing more. A Parentless would carry it in their blood for a long time before it became lethal. As Ranulf said, if he’s part Goldoan, there’s no telling how long he would have to wait before it killed him.”

“It would run through his system and nothing more,” Aimee huffed. “Poisons that don’t take effect within the first few hours of being administered are rendered useless. If it were a poison meant to kill and he were immune, then someone would have had to give him repeated doses for a long period of time. Particularly if he’s Branded. And then it would strike all at once. He’d have a few marks at best.”

Ike smirked. “We never called Soren Branded. Only Parentless, which in itself is a vile term. That means that you know at the very least what the Branded are. And you know of poisons. You insisted on bringing us our drinks at the evening meals for perhaps a month’s time, usually a few days apart. And Reyson has just now spoken of your heart. Tell me, Aimee, is there anything else you would like to lie about?”

The shopkeeper didn’t speak but Leanne gasped softly. She sank to her knees.

“ _Maita…Ike, cere tu i…cere tu i pandriu._ ”

Ike didn’t understand but Soren seemed to. He cursed loudly in Ancient and forced his eyes open. He was still pale, his breathing still heavy, but he hauled himself to his feet anyways. Ike reached for him but he ignored the commander. When he reached Aimee he glared at her for a moment before moving.

It was over in a second. Soren punched her full-force, sending her to the ground. “Fucking _bitch_ ,” he growled. His Brand glimmered and his eyes shone the colour of blood. He was still incredibly pale but that only served to make the image all the more terrifying. “You’ve killed me. That’s all there is to it. You selfishly chose to kill a man’s staff officer—his _lover_ —because you wanted him instead. Even though he was clearly uninterested. And instead of a knife to the back or an arrow through his skull you’ve chosen one of the most vile poisons that exists. Two _months_ I’ve been sick and throwing up and having all sorts of symptoms that none of us could sort out because they changed so frequently. And this is all because of you being _selfish_.”

“You hit me.” It came out as a whisper. “You hit a woman.”

“There is worse,” Soren growled. “I have felt things you could not possibly comprehend all because of this damned _mark_. Do you know what it’s like to be raped until you pass out from blood loss? Or what it’s like to starve for a week because all you can get to eat are the leftovers that people throw out because nobody will sell to a Branded? Have you ever once loathed yourself so much that you’ve been determined to end your own life because nobody will do so much as _look_ at you? Hitting a woman is so very far from any of those things.”

“You _hit_ me.”

“You gave me a poison with no known antidote.” Soren swayed on his feet briefly. “I hardly think that the two are comparable.”

Ike hardly heard what was said past that point. He felt sick. No antidote. The glimmer of hope he’d been holding onto shattered. That meant Soren would die. Any moment now he could pass out and never wake up. No antidote. They’d been married for three days. Soren was dying.

Mist touched his arm gently and in an instant he was holding her, biting back tears. She squeezed him hard.

“We’ll find an antidote,” she breathed. “I will not let Soren die.”

“There isn’t—”

“I’ll find one!” She had that look on her face again, the one just like their mother’s. “I can’t let him _die_ , Ike! You’re both the happiest I’ve ever seen you and I can’t let that just _end_!”

Rhys gently pulled Mist away from him. “Ike. We’ll set up a tent for you. I’ll give him a dose of antitoxin; it will at least give me time to think and converse with the others. I want you both to go lie down and just hold each other, alright?” The bishop swallowed. “I think that you’ll both feel far better if you’ve got some time to yourselves.”

“What of Aimee?”

Rhys smiled softly. “We’ll think of something.”

())CRAYOLA))>

Stefan checked himself over again. Vague Kaati was still at his side, a silver sword still strapped to his back. His robes still contained two vulneraries and an antitoxin. Sword powder and his gloves, just in case he needed to do any work before the battle. Tools for leatherworking; it would be good to do some crafting and selling before he went back to Grann. Extra gold went a long way in the desert.

And he was still filthy too; he and Mordecai had sneaked away from camp the previous evening and spent the night curled up under the stars, wrapped in each other’s arms. And Mordecai smelled so damn _good_ that Stefan hadn’t known what to do other than bury himself in the other man’s chest and savour it as best he could. He knew that from this point forward any time he caught the scents of earth, of fur, of a fire, he would be reduced to longing and tears.

Mordecai’s hand fell on his shoulder and Stefan jumped. Then he turned and fell into the tiger’s arms.

How unlike him. Collapsed against someone else’s chest and trying so very hard not to cry. It was ridiculous that he could be reduced to a mess like this, and all because of another person. He’d seen Gritnea Tower and not once flinched, even though it reeked of death and decay and everything that was wrong in the world. Instead he had held Mordecai and whispered words of comfort until finally the tiger’s rage had ceased. He’d rescued other Branded, slain a thousand slave traders and soldiers alike. And now he was sniffling into Mordecai’s shirt as people walked past them.

The tiger finally picked him up and carried him off the highway. Stefan broke down at that point, just as he had the night he’d told Mordecai of his past. It was _stupid_. Stefan didn’t _cry_ ; he held the newcomers as they sobbed their past lives away and welcomed the new one. He had given up tears an age ago.

Mordecai simply held him. The level of understanding he had was unnerving. Ranulf had explained around the campfire several nights ago that the cat tribe’s ability to sense emotions was nearly on par with the heron tribe’s. At that point everything had clicked in Stefan’s mind; how else could Mordecai know when he was feeling depressed or upset or in the mood?

And then came the comforting rumble in Mordecai’s chest. The tiger was purring, nuzzling into Stefan’s hair and holding him tightly. Deep affection. Love. Stefan wished for a fraction of a second that he had full blood and that he could return the gesture the same way. Just once before this was all over for good.

“I think I will come to Grann Desert with you.”

The words were a shock to his system. Stefan would have pulled away to give Mordecai a good hard look but the tiger was holding him _perfectly_. Far too good to destroy with movement. Instead, Stefan pulled in a deep breath.

“You’ve got your own duties in Gallia. And I have my people to go home to. I do not believe that they would take kindly to a full-blooded laguz roaming the streets. And I don’t believe that King Gallia would appreciate you running off to be with one of the Parentless.”

“I have told you, Stefan. I will have nothing to do with people who would reject you for something that is not your fault in the first place.” Mordecai paused. His lips curved into a smile. “I will have words with King Caineghis. He will understand.”

“Understand _what_? Your interest in an abomination?”

“He understands General Ike’s.” Mordecai’s voice hardened and he tensed. “You are not an abomination. Not to me. Let everyone else think whatever it is they want. They will never love you as I do.”

He nearly broke down crying again but held it in. “And what exactly will King Gallia allow for, hmm?”

Mordecai tilted his chin up and looked him in the eye. “I do not know. But he would not tear us apart. Perhaps some time together in Gallia or Begnion.” Then the tiger chuckled. “And you’ve left mating marks across my neck. I hardly think he would tear us away from one another.”

Stefan flushed. “We haven’t mated,” he murmured. “You don’t seem to _want_ to.”

“I do. But you are still unsure. You fear for me and you fear for yourself.” Mordecai’s lips brushed his temple. “Until you are satisfied with yourself just the way you are, and unconcerned about me, we will not.”

“Who said that _you_ got to make all the decisions?”

“I am forty-nine years your elder.” Mordecai finally kissed his Brand. “I worry for you and I see things that you do not.”

“You—”

The tiger’s lips met his and Stefan sighed into the kiss. His arms found their way around Mordecai and he squeezed tightly. “I should just wait for mating season; that would sway your opinion far more than anything I could ever say.”

Mordecai laughed at that. “We will see. I will request several weeks’ leave once Crimea is rebuilt.”

“You seem so certain that we’ll win.”

“With you on our side I have no doubts.”

And it ended up being so damned _corny_ that Stefan couldn’t help finally cracking a smile and throwing his arms around the other man and kissing him. Mordecai purred and kissed down his throat and his teeth nipped sharply at the side of his neck. His tongue was rough as he lapped the blood away. Stefan gave him a half-smirk.

“So you plan to see me once it’s the right season?”

“Perhaps,” Mordecai replied. “I mark you because I love you. No one else may have you. And I would like to be with you.”

“Intimately?”

“Yes. Of course. You speak very little about your experiences but you say that they have all been bad ones.” Mordecai smiled. “I will make sure that it is not bad.”

Still too romantic. Mordecai _must_ have been taking lessons from Ike; Soren had complained of the very same thing not a week ago. But Stefan couldn’t help smiling and squeezing him and kissing him.

“Then you’ll have to show me how to do it properly,” Stefan murmured. “Show me just how good it is between lovers.”

“Of course.”

“Do you promise?” Stefan bit his lip. It seemed like a childish thing to say but it was all he could think of right now.

Mordecai smiled and kissed him again. “I promise.”

())CRAYOLA))>

When the tent was set up Ike tied the flaps shut and sat down with Soren. For a moment they didn’t speak. Then Soren opened his arms and Ike fell into them, nuzzling against the sage’s chest and squeezing as tightly as he dared.

“I’m scared,” Soren breathed. “Not once have I ever been afraid of dying. Not when held at the point of a lance nor when caught in a Thoron spell. Not even when I was younger, starving and being raped every other day.” His voice caught in his throat. “And now that I’m married and with you and _happy_ I’m terrified.” A soft chuckle. “This isn’t even a _good_ death. I’ve been poisoned by a selfish ally and nothing more. Anyone else who dies will die at the hands of Daein and be known for fighting until the bitter end for their country and their queen.”

“Don’t speak that way,” Ike murmured. “We’ll find some way to fix this.”

“There isn’t a cure, Ike.” Soren squeezed him. “I know you’re trying to look on the bright side. But it’s not realistic. The most we can do is make the best of our time together. Even if it’s only a few short marks.”

“Then what would you like to do?”

Soren tilted Ike’s head up to look him in the eye. He smiled gently. “If it’s not too much trouble. Hold me. Curl around me like you always do when I’ve had a nightmare. Kiss me.” He leaned down and pressed his brow to Ike’s. “Cry with me. Let me die in the arms of the only person I have ever loved.”

“I can do that,” Ike murmured. He shifted and pulled Soren close. The sage’s breath caught in his throat and quite suddenly they were both trying and failing to hold back tears. Soren let out a sound somewhere between laughter and a sob, tears spilling over. Ike kissed him gently.

“I love you,” Soren managed to say. “Even though it’s ending like this, I can’t imagine a better way to die.”

“Stop saying that,” Ike murmured.

“‘Die’?”

“Yes.” Ike kissed him again. “Let me stay in my state of denial.”

Soren couldn’t help smiling. “I love you, you great big idiot.”

“If I weren’t an idiot, you’d be worried.”

They both managed to laugh at that. Soren kissed him and squeezed him and nestled against him, face calm and his breathing finally steady. Ike smiled. It wasn’t _really_ a bad way to go. The poisoning was unfortunate and painful, but if their roles had been reversed Ike was sure he would have asked for the same thing. One last moment of comfort before he met Ashera.

A mark later Rhys was at the entrance to their tent, asking to be let in.

Rhys.

Ike’s heart soared for a brief moment. It had to be good news, right? Some way to prolong the poison or some temporary cure. Anything to keep Soren alive. He’d give his own blood if it meant Soren’s life.

“We think that we might have a solution. Even if it’s only a temporary one,” Rhys said, trying to catch his breath. “If we alter an antitoxin and use the galdrar of the herons combined with the same sort of magic that Ena uses, it might at least keep it from killing you. Reyson and Leanne both use healing magic and Ena can use hers to restore her allies to prime condition. And an antitoxin does exactly what it sounds like.” The bishop smiled. “Do you want to try it?”

“Have you taken into consideration any and all side effects? Possible ways to avoid conflicts between the spirits that follow me and those that follow the herons and the Goldoans?” Soren’s voice was stern but his eyes were shining. “If so, I see no need to carry this out any longer than need be. This will either cure me or kill me.” He looked at Ike and flushed. “Help me up. I’m not entirely sure I can stand by myself.”

Ike didn’t hesitate for a second; he was on his feet and scooping Soren up with him in an instant. Rhys chuckled and as Ike walked past he stopped them. His arms fell around them and he breathed a prayer for each of them, for Reyson and Leanne and Ena, for Aimee, and finally for himself. Strength and courage and forgiveness. For a long life ahead and for inner peace for all of them. Then he whispered a blessing and touched Soren’s brand softly. Soren didn’t flinch away, merely closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Whether he believed in prayer or not, it was at the very least a relief.

Leanne was at their side the moment she caught sight of them, chattering excitedly in Ancient. Soren’s lips curved upward and Ike couldn’t help but smile; the heron and the sage had hit it off reasonably well. Her hands caught his and she hummed in approval; from behind her Naesala translated.

“His fever is going down and his energy is different,” the crow explained. “Or so she says; I haven’t the foggiest what’s happening. But we need you both to lead us, or so I’ve been told.” His lips curved into a smirk. “Go on, Reyson’s waiting for you with the dragons and your sister.”

Leanne dragged them off. She was surprisingly strong for a heron. When they reached her brother, she tugged Soren out of Ike’s arms and helped him stand steadily. Reyson chuckled.

“Always the bossy one, even when you were just an infant,” he murmured. Leanne turned and smacked him and he swept his sister up in his arms, laughing. She muttered something and then turned to Ike expectantly.

“ _Kao si,_ ” she ordered. “ _Kao y hure_ _._ ”

“Go on,” Soren translated. He smiled. “Come to me.”

Ike smiled and enveloped the sage in his arms. “I love you,” he murmured. “I will always love you, Soren.”

“’Til death? Because it’s happening as we speak.”

Ike kissed his hair. “Forever.”

Rhys handed Soren something. It smelled foul but the sage downed it without so much as making a face, tossing the container aside as he finished. Rhys clucked his tongue but said nothing. Then his hands were over them and a final blessing passed his lips. He was flanked moments later by Ena and Nasir. Leanne pressed her palms to Soren’s shoulders and Reyson’s fell overtop of them. Mist completed their circle, catching Ike’s hand in one of hers and Soren’s in the other.

Something in the air _shifted_. Leanne and Reyson began to sing and Ena did whatever-it-was and Rhys and Mist both pushed their magics through. Mist’s grip tightened on Ike’s hand and he squeezed back, pulling Soren ever closer with his other arm. The sage clung to him and drew in a sharp breath.

And then everything just slowed to a near-stop. Ike blinked and felt _something_ pass through them, something small and innocent and so very powerful. He pressed his lips to Soren’s brand and felt the sage squeeze him.

Abruptly time returned to its normal pace. The herons were still singing and Ena was still using her magic and Rhys was still using his healing magic. Mist was the only one who had noticed the change in Soren’s posture.

And then Soren was pulling away from Ike and standing straight, experimentally rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs as though he expected to collapse at any given moment. Leanne’s face lit up and Reyson grinned. Ena managed a half-smile.

Mist was so overjoyed that she tackled Soren without thinking, nearly sending them to the ground. Rhys stepped forward and caught them but he was laughing. They all were. Ike smiled and opened his arms. Soren excused himself from Mist’s grip and threw himself into Ike’s arms. Ike kissed his hair and held him close and when Mist was finally looking in a different direction he kissed Soren’s lips too.

“I told you you’d be alright,” he murmured. He couldn’t help it.

Soren made as though to swat him but instead kissed him again. “Optimistic idiot.”

“Stubborn pessimist.”

And then Mist popped up, grinning. “See? I _told_ you we’d find a way.”

Soren _did_ swat her but he was half-smiling as he did so. Ike squeezed her.

“Okay, so you were right.” He smiled. “Thank you, Mist.”

She just kept on grinning. “We’ll say you owe me fifty gold and be done with it.”

Before he could protest, she was gone. Soren chuckled.

“You both get it from your mother,” he sighed. “She was just as cheerful as Mist and she was as optimistic as you try to be when something like this happens. You’re certainly your mother’s son.”

“If I can make you as happy as she made Father, I’ve done my job.” Ike kissed the sage a third time, and then a fourth.

Soren’s lips twisted into a playful grin. “You wouldn’t look nearly as good in a dress. Now stop fussing. We’ve fallen behind schedule and we need to get to Melior bef—”

Ike kissed him again. “It can wait. I nearly lost you not a mark ago. Give me some time to recover. Elincia of all people will understand.”

“Ike—”

“Soren. Please.” He smiled and Soren groaned, pulling him in for another kiss.

“Only this once and only because you’re the one asking.”


	28. Endgame: In which something horrible is averted

Goddessdammit all, this was _hard_.

It had been fine until he’d exhausted his energy reserves and been forced to the more beorc of his two states. The ground around him was charred from flame, corpses still burning. It stank of cooking meat and charred bones. What few soldiers had come near him to begin with had died nearly immediately, screaming as their flesh melted and their bones snapped under Nasir’s weight.

But now Nasir was beorc again, with no real breath and skin that was easy to pierce. At the very least, he was quicker on his feet.

He slid underneath the thrust of a lance, twisting and catching hold of the shaft. One swift movement was all it took; the soldier was flying to the side and landing in an undignified heap on the ground. Nasir stomped hard; the man’s arm snapped at the elbow.

The man screamed and Nasir kicked him in the jaw, knocking out two teeth and silencing him. His remaining comrade growled and took a wide swipe with his sword. The dragon dodged and the man took hold of his scarf instead. Nasir gritted his teeth even as his air was cut off. Carefully he twisted, letting the stray blade slash along the fabric. The soldier fell back in surprise as the fabric split and Nasir kicked his feet out from underneath him. Power coursed through him and he gave them a look, grinning.

“Run,” he hissed.

They didn’t need to be told twice; Nasir let the glow of transformation overtake him and they were gone in a flash. He chuckled to himself. From behind him came the sharp sound of a bowstring snapping, followed by a series of obscenities. The dragon sighed and ceased his transformation halfway through. He knew it was an eerie sight and was rather looking forward to the look on Shinon’s face.

“Here,” he offered. The sniper turned and gave him the up-and-down and chuckled, taking the bow he was offered.

“What’s happened to _you_?” he asked.

Nasir grinned, all sharp teeth and claws and half-scales. “What, you don’t like it?”

“Creepy as fuck,” Shinon replied. “Reinforcements headed in behind you.”

The dragon turned and chuckled. “Oh, this _will_ be fun, won’t it?”

“Creepy as fuck,” Shinon repeated. It was too late, though; the half-transformed Goldoan was already headed into the group of halberdiers. Already the men were scattering. Gatrie chuckled.

“Well, he does know how to make an entrance.”

Shinon nodded and looked around. He had a single arrow loosely strung but there was nothing nearby to shoot at.

“D’you think we can find a corner for a while?”

Gatrie looked around and sighed. All the enemy reinforcements were too far away, and the old wound on his leg was starting to bother him, and he was out of breath and _tired_. With Nasir terrorizing the nearest group of halberdiers, there was nothing left to do. The blonde sheathed his sword, double-checked to make sure his spear was still strapped to his back, and then smiled.

“Just until my leg stops acting up,” he replied. “We’d never get away with it otherwise.”

Shinon caught his hand and pulled him toward the center of the courtyard. Gatrie collapsed against the fountain as soon as they reached it and stretched out his legs. The sniper perched behind him and slid his helmet off. A moment later his lips met Gatrie’s hair. Then he made a noise somewhere between affection and disgust. Gatrie laughed.

“Well, pardon me for sweating.”

Shinon muttered something under his breath and Gatrie tilted his head back, offering his lips. The sniper leaned forward and kissed him again. Gatrie leaned into his touch and at once Shinon was screaming in pain.

He turned in time to catch the sniper. The arrow shifted as Shinon fell and the sniper groaned. It hadn’t been a clean shot. The arrow hadn’t gone very deep and it was off-center. The silk shirt that Shinon wore beneath his jacket had likely kept it from being fatal. For now, at least.

Gently he lay the sniper on the ground, shielding him as best he could from several more arrows. Then Gatrie turned and stood. An arrow bounced off his breastplate; another whizzed past his head. He dodged the next arrow and hefted his lance like a javelin. The blow was hard and the sniper fell. Gatrie rushed back to Shinon, shouting for Rhys.

The wave of nausea that hit upon Rhys’ initial analysis passed soon enough. Shinon had Gatrie’s hand in a white-knuckled grip and his breathing was shallow. Gently Rhys prodded the arrow, sending Shinon into a fit of cursing that would have put a sailor to shame. The bishop ignored it, though; he had his other hand against Shinon’s side, right where the head of the arrow should be.

Ah. There.

“You’ve got two choices,” Rhys finally said. “Either I can pull it out the way it came and potentially cause more damage to what’s already there, or I can open another wound where you can feel my fingers and push it through.” He pulled away. “I’m sorry. There’s no other way.”

And Shinon looked _scared_ at that point. Gatrie made to move, to look at Shinon’s face, but Rhys shook his head. This sort of thing was between a healer and his patient. He’d seen Shinon hurt a thousand times, in conditions that Gatrie would never see. The sniper bit his lip.

“Push it through.”

He sent Gatrie to go help Ilyana and Mia at that point. This was something he didn’t need to watch.

“Alright.” Rhys smiled and pressed his brow to Shinon’s. “I’ve never lied to you before and I won’t start now. This is going to hurt like nothing else you’ve ever felt. You’re going to scream. If you cry, I won’t tell anyone. It’s just us, Shinon. Alright?”

The sniper’s face was red and he turned away. “Just do it.”

He pulled out what he needed. The knife he used for collecting herbs would be sharp enough to cut through. He had an elixir but he doubted a single dose would be enough.

“Do you have—?”

“Mm.” Shinon already had a vulnerary in one hand. “Just say when.”

Rhys nodded. “Be strong.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

He cut through where the head of the arrow was. Blood poured over his hands and he grimaced. Shinon hardly flinched. Then he took firm hold of the shaft and pushed.

Rhys had been right; Shinon screamed. His free hand caught Rhys’ shoulder and squeezed hard. The bishop gasped; Shinon had a tight grip made all the worse by pain. Still, he continued pushing.

Finally the arrow was out. Shinon needed no prompting; he downed the potion immediately. The elixir nearly went to waste as Rhys fumbled to hand it to the redhead. Shinon breathed his thanks and took a long swig. There was a little left and Rhys took it, spreading it on the wound.

“You’re not allowed to fight anymore,” he murmured. “You’ve got damage that only time can heal. Stay here. I’ll send Gatrie back to you.”

“Why’d you send him away?” Shinon was already starting to doze off. Rhys patted his cheeks to wake him. After a brief moment of thought he wiped the stray tears from the sniper’s face.

“Because he doesn’t need to see you like this.” Rhys smiled. “Your injuries, your one moment of being weak, will always be between you and I.”

“Thank you.”

It was rare, hearing Shinon thank him. He couldn’t help grinning widely. “You’re welcome.”

He sent Gatrie back to Shinon with strict orders to keep the sniper awake. After scanning the area for wounded and finding none, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ulki’s arms were around him a moment later.

“You seem…tense,” Ulki commented. The bishop shrugged.

“I’m frustrated. I don’t feel well. I’ve killed thirteen men. One of my closest companions nearly died not moments ago and I'm covered in his blood and Elincia had to retreat because Ike thought she’d be killed and as we speak our company is trying its hardest to break through four separate groups of elite soldiers who are trained far better than we are. I’m worried that we’ll muck all this up somehow. That I’ll fail. That I won’t get to someone in time to save them.” He felt himself tensing and forced himself to relax. “Within two marks’ time I’ll probably have passed out from healing the wounded, even with Mist and Soren and Elincia helping me. And part of me wishes that this won’t end because—”

“I’m going to miss you too, Rhys.”

Rhys bit his lip. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I have to.” Ulki buried his nose in the other man’s hair. “It’s not as though I’m leaving right away. King Tibarn has told us we’re to stay and help rebuild Crimea. You will have some time with me yet.”

“And after that, you will leave.” The bishop took a moment to turn and cast a Shine. The spell blinded the soldiers sneaking up on them and he nodded curtly at Volke as the assassin disposed of them. “You will go back to Phoenicis and continue your duties as the King’s Ears. And you will have no time or reason to see me.”

Ulki frowned. “You’re implying that you are not worth my time.” His hands settled on the other man’s shoulders. “I will always have time for you.”

“You won’t, though.” Rhys sighed. “You say you will, and you might at first. And then you won’t bother because you have things to do for Tibarn and I have things to do for Ike.”

“Rhys.” This was a battlefield; there wasn’t _time_ to talk. “I am not going to just up and leave you once this war is over. I love you. I have talked to Tibarn. I’m allowed to come see you whenever I have a few days available. Crimea is a day’s flight away. It’s not as though it’s impossible for me to see you.”

“But you—”

“I will.” Ulki leaned down and kissed him. “Besides,” he added, grinning, “if I will recall exactly what you asked for last ni—”

And then Rhys’ hand was slamming down over his mouth and the bishop was stomping away, flushing and grinning and muttering about perverted hawks the entire time. Ulki couldn’t help but chase after him.

())CRAYOLA))>

Cold steel was pressed against his throat. Tormod knew that instant that he was going to die.

The worst part about this was that he hadn’t reconciled with Sothe yet. The thief would stay angry with him until after he’d died. Then he might realize that their argument had been a stupid one, but at that point it wouldn’t matter anyways.

The blade dug in and he felt blood welling up, ready to burst from his throat with the slightest movement. Tormod shut his eyes and breathed Sothe’s name.

Blood sprayed. It took Tormod a moment to realize that it wasn’t his, that _he_ was the one getting covered. The thought made him nauseous and he swayed on his feet. After a moment he sank to his knees.

“It’s alright.”

He didn’t fully register the words. Hands were removing his blood-soaked cloak and a vulnerary was being applied to his throat. The blood was wiped from the back of his neck, his hair. When he was clean he felt someone kiss the back of his neck.

“I’m not good with goodbyes.”         

Sothe. Tormod resisted the urge to turn and punch him.

“Not even close,” he said instead.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I wasn’t thinking. I…my older sister, she…it’s like she can read my mind sometimes, y’know? I grew up with that. With somebody always knowing how I felt. I’ve never had to say anything to her. And when we got separated in Begnion, I was suddenly all alone. Nobody knew what I was thinking or what mood I was in. This is all really, really weird for me, okay?” Sothe swallowed. “And sometimes I feel like _you_ can do that too, because of the things you say or the way you act. So when I’m trying to prepare myself for a goodbye I figure that you understand that I don’t want to have to say it and that I’m scared of never seeing you again.”

Tormod blinked. “Of never seeing me again?” He turned to face the thief. “Look, you might have a load of faults but there is no way you’re getting rid of me so easily. You can write, can’t you? I _know_ that you’re capable of walking to meet me someplace if we set the date up in advance. Come on. You don’t think I’d miss you too?”

“I—”

Tormod would have kissed them if Muarim hadn’t firmly swatted him.

“I hardly think now is the best time,” he growled. “Save it for later.”

And as they stood Sothe just blinked. Finally he managed to stutter a ‘Y-you made up!?’

())CRAYOLA))> 

 “Rival! Faring well, I hope!”

Oscar smiled and strung his bow, catching a Daein in the stomach. The man fell from his horse and Kieran cheerfully flung a hand axe at his head, killing him instantly. The green-armoured knight shuddered slightly before turning and facing another paladin with a sword. 

“Please never smile like that before killing a man again,” he called out, wincing as he heard a telltale crunch from behind him and Kieran cackling.

“Nonsense!” the redhead shouted. “I’m beating you!”

Oscar raised an eyebrow as he evaded the blade, driving his lance forward and disarming his opponent. “I beg your pardon?”

“Since you assisted me in my grand escape from prison all those months ago—” there was a pause, a grunt, and another wet crunch, “—I have bested eighty-six opponents in battle and only been defeated twelve times! You, on the other hand,” _whud_ “have only bested eighty-two.”

Oscar cocked an eyebrow and winced as an arrow buried itself in his left shoulder. His lance spun and drove forward, through armour and mail and finally into flesh. The Daein let out a half-shout, blood bubbling up through his mouth and cutting his voice off as he slumped forward in the saddle and lay still. Three down, two to go.

“And how many times have I been bested?” Oscar asked.

Kieran flushed and drew his sword, muttering something. He ducked as a hand axe came flying toward him. Oscar smirked and then flinched as the axe whizzed not an inch past his nose, thankful that he had his helmet on.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“ _Four_ ,” Kieran emphasized, throwing him a dirty look. The green-haired paladin chuckled.

“So wouldn’t that mean that I’m winning?”

“No it certainly would not! Defeat is the best way to learn!” Another one of those horrifyingly cheerful smiles displayed itself on the redhead as he casually dropped a hammer on the head of a reinforcement. “Therefore, I am _winning_!”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Kieran.”

The paladin took a moment to pause. “Are you implying that you are _better_ than me, rival?”

“I am not.”

“I think you are.”

“I am _not_.”

“You _are_!” Kieran struck a pose, pointing his axe dramatically before lopping the hand off a halberdier. Oscar sighed heavily and drove his lance through the man’s throat, silencing his screams.

“All I’m saying is that you’re a bit overdramatic sometimes.”

Kieran’s eyes widened briefly and he threw the axe he was holding toward Oscar. The lance paladin ducked just in time and heard a faint snapping sound, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal being buried in metal. A moment later a chunk of wood was hitting him in the thigh. He glanced up and saw the axe, embedded in an archer’s chest. The man fell, his arrows spilling out of his quiver.

Kieran caught Henry’s reins and pulled them to the side.

“Something’s wrong with you,” he murmured. “You’re never this distracted in battle.”

“You’re cackling every time you kill a man. It’s hardly relaxing.”

“I…I suppose.” They took a moment to share a vulnerary. “But you’ve dealt with this before.”

“Not like this!” Oscar threw his hands up in frustration. “Not on the battle that will determine the victor of this war, not with you being this _ridiculous_! I don’t see how you can’t be serious about this, _especially_ this, for once in your life!”

“Serious!? Why on earth wouldn’t I be serious!? This is my homeland; these are my people! I fight to win and if that means doing what I need to in order to stomach killing all these men then so be it! Do you think I _like_ this? Making women widows and making children fatherless?” Kieran looked away. “I fight to defend my country. Not for the pleasure of it.”

“You—”

“If you can’t sort that out by yourself, perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.” Kieran scowled and turned away. There were still enemies. He hefted his sword and brought it down on a warrior preparing to throw a short axe. It was an easy manoeuvre. Something he could do in his sleep.

He missed.

He shouted for Oscar to watch out, to move, _something_ , but the lance paladin turned just a second too late to dodge. The axe smashed through his armour with a sickening crunch. Blood splattered. Oscar fell.

Kieran leaped from his horse. He didn’t think about it when he drove his sword home. He was dimly aware of the warrior falling. It didn’t matter. An elixir was in his hand and he fell to his knees beside Oscar, ignoring the bite of metal against his knees. He screamed for Rhys, for Soren, for _anybody_.

“Oscar?” Gently he pulled the other man’s helmet off.

Oscar groaned. He was trembling. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. His breathing was shallow, desperate.

“I—I d-don’t—th-think I’ll—”

Kieran pulled the other man into his arms as best he could. “It’s alright. It’ll be alright.”

“I—” Oscar’s voice cracked and blood bubbled between his lips. “I love y-you. I’m s-sorry…I yelled.”

“I forgive you. I’m sorry that I’m…the way I am.”

“I—”

Kieran kissed him, despite the blood. Oscar was rapidly paling, the trembling in his hands fading. Dimly he heard Mia screaming for Rhys to get to them _now_ , that Ilyana would be fine. He slid his hand against Oscar’s cheek.

“I will always love you,” he breathed. “Always.”

The lance knight smiled, let out his breath, and was gone.

And Kieran couldn’t help letting out his anguish, screaming it for the world to hear. Someone fell against his back, sobbing. Rolf. The sniper squeezed him hard and Kieran turned, pulling the twelve-year-old into his arms. Hands landed on his shoulders. He turned his head slightly and saw Janaff. The blond bit his bottom lip and then fell to his knees next to them, spreading his wings around them. A moment later Boyd’s shadow fell on them. His face was grim.

“Can’t leave him like this,” he whispered. In one fluid motion he wrenched the axe from his brother’s corpse and flung it aside. It clattered to the ground.

“What d-do we d-do now?” Rolf hiccupped.

“I don’t know,” Kieran breathed.

Boyd crouched next to them. “We bury him and move on.”

And Rolf lashed out then, punching his brother full-force. “ _Move on_? That’s all you can say at a time like this!?

Boyd stumbled and then took a swing of his own. “What else am I supposed to say!? At least I’m being honest!”

“You despicable—”

“You are absolutely—”

“Enough!”

That was Rhys. Both brothers froze mid-sentence. The bishop glared at them. “This is not the time nor place to be arguing. Rolf, go check on Shinon. Boyd, check on Ilyana.” When neither moved, he made as though to strike with his staff. “Now!”

He glared at them until they left. Then he gently pulled Kieran to his feet. “Come on. Up you get; things are going to be fine.” For a moment he held the paladin. “Kieran. Give me a moment. I promise you may be with him afterward.”

“What are you—”

“Does he truly need to be left like this? A gaping wound in his chest?” Rhys smiled. “You don’t need to fight anymore. Take a moment and breathe. I’ll tell you when he’s finished.”

Kieran nodded numbly and Janaff led him away.      

“I don’t know if we can do this.” That was Soren, two paces behind him, staff in hand.

“I would regret it for the rest of my life if we did not try.”

Rhys slid his hands over Soren’s. The sage didn’t look at him.

“Best of luck to you,” Soren murmured.

“And you as well.”

They whispered at the same time, and for three terrifying seconds nothing happened.

Then the light was coming—like a Heal staff but brighter, louder. The wind picked up and the sounds of battle ceased for just a moment. Life itself seemed to hold still.

Slowly, Oscar inhaled.

Rhys let out a small cry of joy. Soren smiled weakly and then he was falling against Rhys. The bishop nearly chuckled but he found that he was dizzy too. It didn’t hurt when he hit the ground, even when Soren fell on top of him. The sage murmured a brief apology. Then he fell silent, his breathing calming. Unconscious, or perhaps just asleep. Rhys tried to call Ulki but his tongue was leaden, his eyelids heavy.

He heard footsteps thudding on the stone walkway. Rolf. The sniper knelt next to them and Rhys struggled to move his hand toward the paladin. Rolf asked him something and then he was shouting for Boyd, letting out a whoop of joy.

Rhys smiled and let himself pass out.


	29. Epilogue: In which many a tale ends

It was loud. Not overly so, but enough to make him uncomfortable. And bright, too, the light staining his eyelids a vivid red. Whoever was next to him was too close; he could hear them breathing, their breath coming in soft puffs against his face and stirring his hair just enough to make his forehead itch.

“You’re going to smother him.”

Whoever was next to him moved back only slightly, muttering something as he went. Cool fingers pressed against his forehead, trailed down his cheek. Slender, hardly calloused. A bishop.

( _how did I know that_ )

He struggled to open his eyes. Someone shielded him from the light and a moment later curtains were pulled. That made things easier. And someone was speaking to him, softly, soothingly. Encouraging him to take his time, that there was no rush. A hand met his cheek. Someone else’s. Rough and calloused from years of work but still gentle as they touched him. A name whispered across his mind but was gone as quickly as it had come.

The first thing he saw was not dramatic. It was the ceiling. Something white was on his right and he turned, squinting at it. The shape cleared into a white-robed man with auburn hair. His smile was gentle but his eyes spoke volumes. Relief and joy. He murmured a prayer of thanks. This was the bishop, then.

“Thank the Goddess you’re awake,” he breathed. “We were all so worried.”

He struggled to find words. His throat was dry; they wouldn’t come. The bishop looked flustered and stood, murmuring about water.

The calloused hand found his. He turned to his left. Red hair, relieved eyes. A wide grin.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it,” the man breathed.

And then the redhead was kissing him, kissing him gently, deeply. The other man’s tongue slid into his mouth and he couldn’t help surrendering, kissing him back. It felt so familiar, so good. So, so good. He heard the bishop turning and then chuckling.

“Always the same with you two. Come now, move. He’s got to drink something.”

The bishop helped him sit up. He drank what he was given. A kiss was pressed to his temple and he smiled weakly. How to put this, exactly?

“I…not that I don’t appreciate this.” He smiled and let himself be pulled against the redhead. “It’s very nice, it really is. Waking up to this. But I’m not…” he pulled in a deep breath. “I’m not entirely sure who you both are.”

The redhead froze. Even without looking, he knew the other man was flushed. The bishop simply took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and smiled.

“Then we have a lot of work to do, don’t we?” He turned to the redhead. “Kieran, will you leave us for a mark? Things will perhaps be a touch easier if you’re not sitting here and remaining that particular shade of red.”

“Mm.”

It didn’t seem to phase the bishop, which was mildly concerning. But the man poured them each a cup of tea—what had apparently been his favourite—and sat next to him on the cot and began explaining.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Tibarn woke up to blonde hair scattered across his chest. He couldn’t help smiling. As he blinked away the staff-induced sleep, he chuckled softly.

“Leanne.”

She started and then sat bolt upright, flushed and stammering.

_“Reyson told me to keep an eye on you! But it was a few marks ago and I’ve been helping Mist and Soren and Rhys heal everyone because they need some help now and again! And I was tired so I closed my eyes and I guess that I fell asleep because—”_

_“Leanne._ ” Tibarn couldn’t help chuckling. “ _It’s alright. You sound like a hatchling.”_

Her face grew an even darker shade of red but she punched his arm lightly. _“If you weren’t hurt, I’d clobber you, Tibarn.”_

He laughed hard at that, wincing as the wound on his ribs protested. Leanne clucked her tongue and touched the bandages gently and he sighed. She was in the mood to fret.

 _“It’s nothing,”_ he began, but she would have none of that.

 _“They used a laguz sword on you. King Phoenicis or not, you’re lucky.”_ She flicked his temple gently. _“Let me worry about you. Reyson is—he’s busy.”_

 _“Oh?”_ Tibarn raised an eyebrow. You didn’t have to be a mind-reader to know what she was thinking. _“He and Naesala are off together, I’m sure.”_ But he couldn’t help laughing. _“Insatiable, the both of them.”_

Leanne was a rather alarming shade of red. He chuckled and she turned away from him. _“Yes. They’re…they are otherwise occupied.”_ She opened her mouth as though to ask something, then seemed to think better of it. This was something Tibarn had known was coming for a long time, though.

 _“It’s not going to hurt him. Naesala is…very careful.”_ He hated admitting it. Hated admitting that he had been in the wrong, that he had spoken out of anger and perhaps a tinge of jealousy. Leanne smiled.

 _“You love Reyson very much,”_ she commented. _“And he loves Naesala very much. But,”_ she added, _“Reyson also loves you. He might say that Naesala is his favourite, but he says it in jest.”_ Then Leanne smiled, touching his shoulder gently. _“He is coming home to Phoenicis with us. Not because of me, or because of Father. He is coming with us because he knows that he belongs with you and will be safest with you, even if he loves someone else as well._

 _“Kilvas would kill him,”_ Tibarn agreed. _“I was worried. Worried that he would want to go with Naesala.”_

 _“It would not kill him,”_ Leanne murmured. _“You have taken good care of him. He knows how to fend for himself. It is…ah, I can’t say. Not for sure. Something is wrong there, that is all. Naesala is trying very hard to right it. And,”_ she added, tapping his nose, _“shame on you for still having so much anger toward him.”_

Curse it. Leanne was the only one who could make him blush. Then he chuckled and pulled her into his arms. _“I will…I will try to forgive him. He is the reason we found you, after all. And everyone is alive and well, and you’ve said he’s trying, and he’s wonderful in bed.”_ Tibarn caught himself too late and Leanne burst into giggles. He felt himself turning red again. _“I’m sorry.”_

 _“You’re not,”_ Leanne giggled. _“You wish you were strong enough to be in there with them. Don’t give me that look; I can feel your heart. You love them both and to…you want to give…”_ she struggled for the right words, _“…a…a physical display of that?”_

This time they were both laughing, even though his wound sent sharp pain shooting through him. Leanne hummed and the pain eased. For a moment they sat in silence, still punctuated by laughter now and again. Then he found himself trying to find the right words.

But Leanne was a mind-reader. Her eyes widened and then she smacked him as hard as she could without hurting herself. Hardly more than a whisper of skin.

 _“No. Absolutely not.”_ Then her eyes softened. _“Not now. Perhaps if Reyson drifts away from him one day. You could, very slowly and_ very _casually, introduce the idea, maybe, perhaps one day, as a joke. Until then, no.”_

_“And will you tell me when?”_

Leanne smiled. _“If the moment ever presents itself. Yes.”_

And Tibarn squeezed her again. _“I’m glad we’re friends, Leanne. Very glad.”_

_“As am I.”_

())CRAYOLA))>

They were interrupted by Mia. Oscar had been the first to notice her and he had smiled, regardless of the lack of recognition on his face. She smiled weakly at him, raising one hand.

“Kieran told me what happened,” she murmured. Tentatively she stood next to his cot. “How ya doing?”

Oscar cocked an eyebrow. “You’re Mia, aren’t you?” When she nodded, he chuckled. “Well. From what I’m told, you’re the sort to hug. Don’t hold back on account of any of this, please. I want to remember you.”

 Mia grinned and leaned down, squeezing him gently. His arms enfolded her and her grip tightened. “I…um…not that I’m not really glad to see you awake,” she murmured. “And it’s really great that you’re alright, even though you don’t remember anyone. But…I…”

Rhys’ hand fell onto her shoulder. “Ilyana’s taken a turn for the worse?”

Mia nodded and stood. “Yeah.”

The bishop nodded and stood. “Alright. Take me to her and I’ll see what I can do.” He hesitated and turned to Oscar. “Will—”

“I’ll be alright.” The paladin’s brow was furrowed. “Go see to Ilyana. I can wait here.”

Rhys shook his head. “No. I’d like you to go speak to Kieran. You remember what he looked like, don’t you?”

Oscar nodded. “Red hair. Rather handsome.”

Rhys grinned. “Yes. His room is down the hall. He knows more about you than anyone.”

Oscar didn’t have time to protest; Rhys was being dragged down the hall as fast as Mia could pull him. The paladin blinked once, slid out of bed, and headed down the hall.

())CRAYOLA))>

There was nothing quite like curling up with someone after sex.

Even though they were flushed, sweaty, sticky with semen. Even though Volke’s chin was pressing into his collarbone hard, even though he was drifting off. He’d had this before, an age ago, and it was good to have it back, even though she was long gone and he had moved to another.

Zihark leaned down and kissed Volke’s hair.

The assassin tilted his head just slightly, just enough to reach him. Zihark kissed him and Volke groaned softly.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry I’m leaving you.”

Zihark let his lips trail down the brunet’s throat. “You’ve no choice. I understand.” He sighed and tugged the other man closer. “It’s part of that job. You do what your employer tells you to. I know. You’ve told me.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Volke was grinning, though, and after a moment the other man sat up. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?” What was Volke thinking? He _never_ asked permission to ask a question.

“How…how long would you say this will go on for?”

“This?” Zihark frowned. “You mean us?”

“Mm.”

The swordmaster shrugged. “As long as you’d like it to, I suppose. I realize that you’ve got jobs. I know Bastain’s hired you for something starting as soon as possible. Goddess knows how long it will take. I might not see you for a year, or two, or the rest of my life.” Then he smiled and sat up. “But if you want to try for a long time, I am more than willing to try as well.”

And at once Volke had a knife in hand and was cutting a piece of his hair off. Zihark was speechless for a moment.

“That’s my _hair_ ,” he muttered, scowling. “Why are you cutting off my hair?”

“You’ll see.”

The assassin’s fingers were impossible to follow, but then, they always had been. After a few minutes, Zihark couldn’t help grinning widely.

A streak of light purple, mingling in with Volke’s hair, woven in just behind his ear. A small metal band held it all firmly together, separating the two colours. The assassin chuckled.

“It’s what we do in the guilds,” he explained. “Jewellery is easy to lose, easy to break, easy to sell when you’re desperate for money. Hair is something that doesn’t just fall off and is worthless to merchants. The weave stays in for months. When we see our lover next, we take another segment and do it again. It’s a semi-permanent way of telling someone you’re taken.” Volke grinned. “Do you like it?”

And Zihark couldn’t help kissing him.

())CRAYOLA))> 

He hated being the one to bring bad news, but then, he figured that Soren would be indifferent. But still, it hurt. Ranulf had grown rather attached to the mage, even though she had eaten a hole through his wallet before moving on to Zihark.

Reports were no fun.

So here he was, giving the injury report to Soren, who didn’t have any personal feelings toward anyone whatsoever and only did the report for the sake of being formal. The sage was listing people and Ranulf was dreading it as he came closer and closer to her name.

“Tibarn.”

“Minor infection. Leanne is taking care of him right now. He’ll be fine in another few days.”

“Janaff.”

“Says he’s feeling fine, but I can tell that his arm is bothering him a bit. Minor pain from the break, nothing serious.”

“Haar.”

“Fortunate that he was shot in the empty socket rather than the remaining eye. He’s alright.”

“Volke.”

“Completely fine.”

“Boyd.”

“Completely fine.”

“Shinon.”

“Still on the road to recovery. He’s too stubborn to stay in bed without Rhys inducing sleep, which doesn’t help matters.”

“Ilyana.”

And Ranulf’s breath caught in his throat. Soren looked up sharply.

“Ilyana,” he repeated, but his voice was a touch gentler.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It was too much. She fought hard but she lost. In the end, she wasn’t even hungry.” Ranulf smiled slightly. “I think that’s how Mia knew that it was the end.”

Soren’s eyes lowered down to his paper. Slowly he drew a line through Ilyana’s name. Then he looked up at Ranulf. He seemed

unsure of what to say.

“Are…are you alright?”

Ranulf blinked. “I’m fine. We weren’t that close. But it seems a waste. All the work you did to help her, only to have her succumb to her wounds anyways.” He chuckled. “She stole my lamb one night, do you remember?”

“Just after she stole mine.” Soren rolled his eyes. Then he seemed to remember. “Is Mia alright?”

“She will be, eventually. She lost her best friend. Her girlfriend. That would be like…I don’t know. Like losing Ike.”

Soren stiffened and Ranulf nearly touched him, turned him to see if he was alright. But Soren hated being touched by anyone but Ike or Stefan. He kept his hands to himself.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Mm.” Soren was absently writing himself a note on the margin of his parchment. After a moment he continued as though nothing had happened. “Oscar.”

And again, Ranulf paused. Soren just looked irritated now.

“Oscar,” he repeated.

“He…” Ranulf struggled to find words. “He’s alright. Physically, I suppose. All the damage is gone; there’s hardly even a scar left. But he…he doesn’t remember us, Soren. He doesn’t remember anything. Not Ike, not the war. He doesn’t know his brothers. He doesn’t know Kieran.”

Soren pursed his lips. “I see.”

They were silent, and then finally Soren stood, replacing his quill in the inkwell and straightening his parchment.

“Thank you for the report.” It seemed forced, as though Soren felt he was required to say it to someone who wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. Ranulf sighed.

“Look, you know that I know what you are, don’t you?” He saw the sage stiffen only briefly and smiled. “You know that I don’t _care_ , right?”

Soren’s eyes met his only briefly. “Forgive me if I do not trust your word.”

“You’re forgiven. But I do mean it. Your blood makes no difference to me. You’re capable of directing us and you do your job and you’ve made Ike happy. The fact that you’re half laguz doesn’t matter.”

It came in a wave, a hard spike of scent that made Ranulf’s eyes widen. Relief. An amount he had never smelled coming off of someone before. The cat grinned and tentatively placed a hand on Soren’s shoulder.

The sage looked at him, gave him the barest hint of a smile, and didn’t shake him off.

())CRAYOLA))> 

Kieran was asleep when Oscar entered. Understandable, he supposed; Rhys had told him that the redhead hadn’t slept for nearly the entire time he’d been unconscious. When he got closer, he saw that Kieran’s face was tear-streaked, his pillow still damp. It hurt to see and he sat down, gently touched the other man’s cheek. Kieran didn’t so much as stir.

He sat there for a mark, hardly daring to breathe lest he wake the other man. When Kieran rolled over, curling halfway into his lap, he couldn’t help himself.

Carefully he slid down beside the other man, briefly wondering exactly what he was doing. When Kieran was pressed against him, squeezing tightly, he couldn’t help smiling. He toyed with the idea that this was his lover. It certainly _felt_ right, the way their bodies fit together. Was he queer? There was no denying that Kieran was downright handsome, or denying that Oscar had loved kissing him.

That seemed to answer the question for him.

So then came the matter of exactly how far they’d come. Was this a new development or one that had been going on for years? Oscar flushed. Were they _married_? Rhys had mentioned that he’d performed weddings before, the most recent of which being between their commander and staff officer. It wasn’t unreasonable to consider that he was married as well.

But Kieran wore no ring.

The thoughts tumbled around his head for a long time. He hardly noticed when Kieran stirred and he only realized that the other man was awake when Kieran was leaning up, half-asleep, and kissing him again.

He couldn’t help sighing into the kiss, squeezing Kieran and letting the redhead slip a leg between his. He groaned at the contact and experimentally let Kieran’s name out in a soft hiss. This, he decided, felt exactly right.

But Kieran woke up fully, looked up at him with confused eyes and Oscar bit his lip.

“Are you alright?” Kieran’s voice was soft. “You can’t be; you were hurt. You _died_. And now you don’t—”

“I don’t remember you,” Oscar murmured. “That much is true. But I think you’re very good-looking and that I would like to know you.” He smiled. “Teach me about myself. Rhys said you know me better than anyone.” And then he couldn’t help being a touch flirtatious. “And teach me about us. _Everything_ ,” he added when he saw the look on the other man’s face.

Kieran had smirked then. Within five seconds Oscar was pinned, the redhead straddling his hips and holding his arms above his head. Slowly he leaned down, running his tongue along Oscar’s bottom lip.

“You’re a smartass in bed,” Kieran muttered. “You’re the most amazing person I know and you always manage to beat me at everything, just by a little bit. You’re a good cook and you’re always careful no matter what it is you’re doing.” Tentatively he slid his hands beneath the hem of Oscar’s shirt. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Oscar flushed; he’d agreed without even a moment’s consideration. But Kieran was smiling and the redhead gently peeled his shirt off. His fingers pressed to the scar: a thick, faded line that cascaded down his ribs. Oscar frowned; had that been the killing blow?

“It was a short axe. Smashed straight through your armour and broke all of the ribs on this side, or so Rhys tells me.” Kieran was still gently touching it, running his fingers along the raised skin. “You fell. I remember that so clearly. It was like time stopped. I could see the way your fingers loosened on the reins, the way your lance fell from your hand. I don’t remember if it was me who killed the soldier who threw the axe. It might have been.” His hands were trembling and Oscar caught them, squeezed gently. Kieran smiled at him. “I remember knowing that instant that you were going to die. I called for a healer anyways, but it was too late. You—” Tears were welling up and Kieran swallowed hard, “—you coughed up blood. And you told me that you loved me. And I kissed you and said the same thing back and then you were gone.”

Oscar pulled him down and squeezed him hard. “Don’t cry,” he breathed. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Kieran let out a sound halfway between a sob and laughter. “You don’t remember me. You don’t remember any of us; you don’t remember the battle that killed you two days ago. And—and I’m so worried that I’ll lose you again. You’ve got no idea what it’s like, watching your lover die in your arms and knowing there’s nothing you can do about it, and how terrifying it is to see it every time you shut your eyes.”

“I know that this is what I would have done if I hadn’t lost my memory,” Oscar murmured. He pressed his lips to Kieran’s hair. “Isn’t it? Holding you until everything’s alright again?”

Kieran chuckled. “Yes. You would have. I’m glad you still remember this, at least.”

They were quiet for a long time. Then Oscar pulled away, tilted the redhead’s chin up, and kissed him. Kieran melted against him, parted his lips and let him delve in. Kieran tasted so damn _good_. Oscar hardly thought about it; this felt too right for him to not go through with it.

Finally Kieran pulled away from him, breathless. “How is it that you don’t recognize my face but you remember just how I love to be kissed?”

And Oscar chuckled. “Rhys said something about my body remembering, even if my mind doesn’t. It would explain…all of this,” he murmured, indicating their position. “And why I know that you love it when I—”

Kieran squeaked and Oscar burst out laughing, removing his hands from the redhead’s backside. Kieran gave him a look. “You’re being too—too _forward_ for someone who doesn’t remember me!”

“But that means I can go after you without having to worry about whether or not you’re interested.” Oscar flushed. “I…I do want to know one thing, though.”

“Anything.”

“What were we? Exactly?” Oscar bit his lip. “I mean…were…” He couldn’t quite get the word out.

“We were good friends in the Crimean Royal Knights. And the night you were leaving, you kissed me, and then we slept together. Not—not _slept_ together, but next to each other.” Kieran chuckled. “We lost contact for two years. And then you broke me out of prison ten months ago. And we were crammed into a room one night, you and me and your brothers, and two beds to share amongst the four us. You _held_ me while I was sleeping, even though at that point I hadn’t told you I still had feelings for you. In the morning, after your brothers had gone to breakfast, you were your stupid, flirtatious, sex-on-legs self and you got halfway undressed and you _kissed_ me.” Kieran chuckled. “Nobody would guess you’re that way; you’re usually quiet and composed. But when you and I are in bed together, you’re completely different. Anyways, we’ve been together since then. I don’t know. We’re lovers. We fight together and eat together and we have sex. We’re not married, or engaged or anything. You—you might have _mentioned_ it, once. But we dropped and left it afterwards. There were other things to be worried about.”

“So we’re very close, then.” Oscar chuckled. “And sleeping together.”

“W-well not anymore, really—you don’t—and—”

“What I’m saying is that, if you wanted to, I couldn’t very well say no to you.” Oscar looked away. “I imagine it would be hard for you. And with someone as—as good-looking as you—”

“No.” Kieran sat up. “I’m not going to let you. You hardly know me and you’re already kissing me. No matter how you were before, this is—this is strange.”

“Kieran—”

The redhead kissed him. “I’m not saying never. I’m saying that right now, I don’t want to, because you need to re-meet everyone. You and I need to go back to square one. Not because I don’t want you. Because I—” Kieran was bright red now, “—because I love you, stupid.”

“I love—”

“No. You don’t, right now. You don’t know who I am. You know that I’m the crazy person that kissed you the moment you woke up, and now you know that we were together rather intimately.” Kieran’s forehead pressed against his and he grinned. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to get there again. But it took time before and it will take time again.”

Oscar was silent for a moment. Then he smirked slightly. “Will you object to me kissing you?”

And Kieran leaned in, still grinning.

“No.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

He was completely ready. He’d thought long and hard about it. Spent ages dwelling on his childhood, discussing this with Soren, until finally he had been able to think of it without fear. And Soren had not only talked to him, but helped him prepare upon his decision.

So Stefan was now sprawled on the bed, completely naked and waiting for Mordecai to move. The tiger was _staring_ at him, giving him a predatory look and grinning.

“You’re sure?” It came out as a growl.

Stefan licked his lips. “Yes. Please.”

“You’re _sure._ ” Mordecai knelt on their bed. “You’re completely sure.”

“Yes.” Stefan leaned up and pulled the tiger down. “I’ve thought about it and I know that you would never hurt me.” Then he grinned wickedly. “Unless I asked you, of course.”

And the tiger pounced on him, fangs grazing his throat. “Don’t be so quick to demand pain.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Stefan replied, still grinning. “Mordecai. I love you. Please, make love to me.”

“You’re sure.”

“Absolutely. I want you to show me how good it can be between lovers.”                                                     

It took Mordecai perhaps half a minute to undress, and then he was pressed against Stefan, kissing him passionately. Stefan couldn’t help submitting, letting the tiger delve into his mouth. Mordecai was hard, grinding against him gently, and the swordsman chuckled, pulling away. Mordecai dove for his neck and Stefan groaned, hooking his legs over the tiger’s.

“I love you,” he breathed.

Mordecai purred against his throat. Supporting himself with one arm, he looked Stefan in the eye and let his free hand wander down the muscled expanse of Stefan’s chest, lightly twisting a nipple when he reached it. The sensation combined with the look Mordecai gave him was overwhelming; Stefan groaned and arched upward. Fuck, he hadn’t expected it to be _this_ good. It hurt, being this hard so quickly, and although he was sure the tiger could smell it, Mordecai was making no move to satisfy him. Instead he teased, kissing down Stefan’s throat and pressing sucking kisses to his collarbone and finally closing his lips around a nipple, letting his teeth scrape across the sensitive flesh.

After a long minute of torment, Mordecai pulled away. His eyes flicked downward briefly and he grinned.

“May I?” he asked. His voice was gentle. Stefan nodded.

“Please,” he breathed. 

Mordecai settled against his neck, kissing him there. “You’re not afraid.” It was a statement, not a question, and Stefan turned his head just enough to kiss the tiger’s forehead.

“No. I’m not. Not with you.” Another soft kiss. “Please, Mordecai.”

Still no move. “Please _what_?”

He was sure that the other man was grinning, and Stefan arched upward, offering himself. “Please touch me.”

Goddess, this was so much better than just jerking off. Stefan gasped and moaned and felt tremors pass through him. Fuck, it was as though he’d never been touched there before, as though this were all completely new.

Mordecai chuckled. “You’re enjoying yourself, then.”

And Stefan hauled him up and kissed him hard, forcing his tongue against Mordecai’s. “More than you could ever possibly understand.” Then he bit his lip. “I—I think I’m going to cum.”

Mordecai’s response was to let him go immediately. Stefan felt his cock twitch shortly before his eyebrow did. He cursed; it had been so damned _good_ , and now his cock was dripping and pointedly being _ignored_. It didn’t make sense; wasn’t an orgasm his goal?

The tiger nuzzled against his neck. “Not yet.” A soft bite. “Unless you don’t want to continue.”

That put things back in perspective. Stefan reached for their bedside table. He felt his cheeks colour. “I do.”

“You’re sure.”

“I am.” Stefan kissed him. “Will you take me?”

“With pleasure.”

Mordecai slid the vial from his hand. “You know it will hurt. Just a bit, and only in the beginning.”

“I’ve been told as much, yes.” Stefan watched, mesmerised, as the tiger spread the oil over his fingers. “Please.”

It did hurt at first. A single finger had been uncomfortable at best, two had stretched him so abruptly he’d almost asked for Mordecai to stop. The other man nuzzled against his collarbone and kissed him gently until finally the pain passed. Then he was slowly scissoring his fingers, stopping every time Stefan gasped. After what seemed like an eternity, the tiger slid a third finger into him and this time Stefan _did_ tell him to stop, gritting his teeth and fighting every urge that told him to run and never look back upon this again, because this was _exactly_ as painful as it had been when he was eleven years old and being pinned to the floor and—

“It will hurt less if you relax.”

He hadn’t realized he was tense until Mordecai said it. He forced every other thought out of his head; Stefan focussed on Mordecai and forced himself to relax and found that the pain suddenly decreased. Mordecai purred and gently kissed his throat, pushing into him again. After a moment he curled his fingers and Stefan groaned. Something felt good, so damned good. He hadn’t expected _that_.

“On your hands and knees.” Stefan blinked; that had almost sounded like his father, just for a moment.

“What?”

“Your hands and knees. It will be better for you that way.”

And Stefan shrugged and obeyed.

Mordecai’s fingers slid into him with less resistance this time and he pushed against them, desperate to feel that flicker of pleasure that coursed through him again. The other man chuckled and moved his fingers exactly right and Stefan groaned, spreading his legs as best he could.

And then suddenly Mordecai was flush against him, kissing between his shoulderblades, holding him gently.

“The pain will pass,” he breathed. “I promise. Don’t let me move until it does.”

Stefan tensed briefly as Mordecai pressed against him and then forced himself to relax. The initial thrust wasn’t terrible, but as Mordecai slid into him he found himself balling the sheets in his hands, biting his lip. When the tiger was fully sheathed neither of them moved for a long time. Then finally Stefan grew used to the intrusion, breathed that he was alright, and Mordecai moved.

The first few thrusts were nothing particularly special. It was kind of nice, sure, but nothing memorable. And then Mordecai’s cock brushed against the nerves that made Stefan groan in pleasure, and the tiger’s hand found his cock, and it was suddenly the best thing Stefan had ever felt, period.

He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t scream, that letting half the castle know what they were doing would probably lead to awkward questions later, but as he pulled closer and closer to the edge he felt his resolve slipping. When he finally came he managed to muffle it in the pillow somewhat. Mordecai growled and simply pounded into him harder, if that were possible. It was too much, a complete overload of his senses, and Stefan half-heartedly told the tiger to stop, that it felt too damned good.

Mordecai ignored him, dug his claws into Stefan’s hips, and came. Moments later he collapsed against the swordsman, who had no strength to hold them up. Mordecai made as though to get off of him but Stefan protested, because now that he was used to it, being stretched like this was really, _really_ good. The tiger chuckled and pressed into him, brushing one last time against the bundle of nerves inside of him. Stefan gasped softly and then grinned.

“I love you so fucking much,” he murmured. “Goddess, Mordecai. So much.”

“I love you too,” Mordecai breathed. He pressed kisses along the back of Stefan’s neck and finally pulled out. Stefan rolled over and kissed him gently. The tiger leaned down to his neck. He paused. “May I?”

Stefan knew immediately what he was asking for and he couldn’t help the joy that coursed through him. “Of course.”

“This marks you as mine. For as long as I’m alive.”

“I know.”

And Mordecai’s fangs sank into the side of his neck hard, hard enough to draw blood. Stefan groaned; this was painful, but a different kind of pain. A soft nip came brief moments later, and then Mordecai was lapping away the blood, purring. When the flow of blood was finally stemmed, Mordecai turned his head, offering his own neck. Stefan dove for it, biting down hard, wishing he had fangs. The skin still broke and he groaned; blood was normally rather repulsive, but somehow this didn’t matter. He swallowed every last drop.

“We’re mates,” Stefan breathed. Mordecai kissed him.

“For as long as I live,” the tiger agreed. “Nobody may come between us.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone come between us.” But he knew what Mordecai was referring to and sighed softly. “You know I don’t love Soren the way I love you.”

Mordecai’s tail twitched but he didn’t answer. Stefan nuzzled the uninjured side of his neck.

“Mordecai, I love you. I just agreed to be your mate until death. Soren is my best friend, aside from you. His childhood was the same as mine. He understands the things that nobody else does. Nothing more.”

“You’re sure.”

And Stefan leaned up to kiss him again. “I’m sure.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

“I still don’t understand fully.”

Soren chuckled. Gently he kissed Ike’s throat.

“You don’t have to. I hardly understand it myself.”

“Something you don’t understand?” Ike squeezed him. “I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”

“Hush, love.” The sage nuzzled against his bare chest. “I told you. You don’t need to understand. I will not use that staff again. The magics were too old; the staff itself was ancient. From a continent under the sea, Ike. From before the flood. Rhys is keeping the pieces; it broke almost the instant we finished the spell. We don’t want this to happen to anyone else.”

Ike hummed softly. “You know that we all appreciate it.” He bit his lower lip. “I know it sounds terrible, but it’s better to lose one good friend than two.”  

“Don’t chew your lip,” Soren replied. “I know what you mean. It is a shame that we lost Ilyana, but losing Oscar as well…it would be too much for the company to handle.”

“You’re thinking too practically.” Ike’s brow furrowed and Soren kissed him there. “No, you are. You’re thinking business rather than the way people are. It’s killing Mia and Zihark; the three of them were all quite close. Losing Oscar as well…” Ike closed his eyes. “He was my best man, he treated all of us so well. I can’t imagine life without him. He’s part of the family; losing him would kill us all.”

“We’ve lost part of him.”

“That’s not the point.” Ike kissed his brand. “Think of it this way. What if I suddenly didn’t remember you?”

And Soren was silent. Ike gently squeezed him, burying his nose in the sage’s hair. “It wouldn’t happen,” Soren breathed. “I would never allow such a thing.”

“Hypothetically. I would still be alive and breathing, and I suppose I would technically still be married to you, but I wouldn’t know who you were. I wouldn’t remember what you’re like, what you enjoy doing, what your favourite tea is. What kind of wine to buy you on your birthday.”

“I suppose.” The thought was a depressing one. He squeezed Ike hard. “I love you, Ike.”

“I love you, too.” The commander was grinning now, nuzzling against Soren’s neck. “I will never forget you. I don’t think that Oscar has forgotten us entirely.” He chuckled. “I saw them earlier. They were all curled up with each other. I think that part of him still remembers, way in the back of his mind.”

“I suppose.” Soren felt himself flushing. “You walked in on them after—”

Ike chuckled. “No. They were dressed, mostly. Sound asleep, the two of them.”

“Like this?” Soren nuzzled against Ike’s neck, kissed him there. Anything to keep him close.

“Mmm.” Ike slid his hands up the sage’s back, ran his fingers through Soren’s hair. “Almost. They hadn’t just started recovering from good sex.”

Soren chuckled. “But you think he’ll be alright.”

Ike sat up, pulling Soren against him. “I do.” He lifted Soren just slightly and the sage kissed him, hot and open-mouthed. Soren felt Ike growing hard again and raised an eyebrow.

“You _didn’t_ sneak it into our tea.”

“I might have.” Ike grinned and nipped at his neck. “I love you.”

Soren groaned as Ike eased into him. “I love you too, Ike.”

“Things are going to be better now.”

The sage kissed him. “I’m glad.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“If he’s got a sleeping condition, it’s contagious.”

Lucia giggled. “He certainly doesn’t.”

And Elincia raised an eyebrow, pointing out the window. “Your brother is sound asleep, under a tree, in the middle of the day, curled up— _curled up, Lucia_ —with another man. He’s _never_ been one to sleep in the middle of the day.” She made a face. “I didn’t know he swung that way, either.”

The swordmaster shrugged. “It might just be a phase he’s going through. I know he fancied you for a while but when you disappeared he really wasn’t sure what to do. I think it’s good for him, even if it’s unexpected.” Then she grinned. “And you never know when he’ll go back to wanting _you_.”

Elincia turned bright red.

())CRAYOLA))>

“You shouldn’t fight against him. You know as well as I do that you should stay in bed. Or have you forgotten already about how you were nearly killed?”

Shinon snorted. “I’m fine. I don’t need to be forced to stay in bed because there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Gatrie tugged the sniper down and gently kissed him. “If you were fine you wouldn’t flinch every time you turn to the right and you wouldn’t avoid sleeping on that side.”

“I don’t know what you’re— _fuck, Gatrie_.”

The knight slid his hand away from the scar. “You’re still recovering. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t get up now and then but you need to rest. Do you want your side to turn out like my leg did?”

The redhead didn’t look at him. “No. It would be a waste.”

“Exactly.” Gatrie was slipping his shirt off now, and Shinon couldn’t help watching. When the knight’s shirt was off, he made a face and mocked the blonde’s previous tone.

“Rhys said we’re not supposed to—”

“We’re not going to.” The knight’s trousers were following now and he was slipping under the covers, pressing against Shinon. “We’re going to sleep. I’m going to play with your hair and hold you until you fall asleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Shinon protested, but already it was half-hearted. His hair was unbound and Gatrie’s lips were on the nape of his neck. It was so damned comforting, so fucking _relaxing_. Nobody should have been able to do this to him, nobody. He was unshakeable on the battlefield and most everyone had called him a jackass at least once.

But Gatrie was curled around him and kissing his neck, right where he loved it. He caught the knight’s free hand.

“You know I love you,” he murmured.

He felt Gatrie’s lips curve into a smile. “You know I love you back.”

())CRAYOLA))>

It was possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, period.

Not that he could usually see anything at night at all, really; darkness was unkind to bird laguz and it was a miracle he could see at all. But it happened to be a full moon, and they happened to be on their balcony, and it was just barely bright enough.

And Rhys was the embodiment of true beauty right now, half-naked, leaning on the balcony, flushed from the wine and the heat, light glinting through his hair and reflecting in his eyes and shining on his bare shoulders. It took his breath away. And the _look_. Rhys was giving him a look that was borderline seductive, completely out of character and something of a turn-on.

The way the bishop had stripped Ulki’s shirt off still lingered in his mind and didn’t help matters at all.

Ulki reached out and barely managed to brush his fingers against Rhys’ shoulder; the bishop twisted out of the way and grinned at him. Briefly Ulki wondered if possibly Rhys had had too much wine, but he dismissed the thought immediately; Rhys was too aware to be anything but mildly intoxicated at best. Rhys closed his eyes, smiling.

“Do you remember what I asked you for?”

And this time Ulki pounced, catching the bishop from behind, nuzzling against Rhys’ bare shoulder and kissing him there.

“I do.”

“You know that I’ve thought this through.” Rhys caught his hands and squeezed. “I’m sure, Ulki.”

“I love you.” It was all he could think to say. Rhys’ pulse quickened but his body didn’t tense. Not fear. Anticipation.

“I love you too.”

Rhys made as though to move toward their bedroom but Ulki held him tightly, kissing the nape of his neck. He slid his hands up the bishop’s chest, exploring just as gently as he had the first time. After a moment they settled over Rhys’ heart. It was still pounding and Ulki chuckled, kissing across the other man’s shoulder.

“Don’t be in a rush,” he murmured. “We’ve got all night.”

He kept kissing the other man, over his shoulders and neck and back again. Rhys let out his name in a sighing whisper and Ulki leaned over his shoulder to kiss his lips. He’d meant for it to be fast, just a gentle press of lips, but Rhys’ lips were parted and his tongue lapped gently at Ulki’s lower lip and the hawk couldn’t help himself. They weren’t close enough to kiss properly but it didn’t really matter; Rhys’ tongue met his and it was messy and wet and perfect.

“Bed,” Rhys managed to breathe, and Ulki couldn’t deny him any longer.

Rhys was undoing his belt even before he’d gotten the door closed, pressed between his wings and kissing between his shoulders. A hard spike of arousal flew through him; Rhys was _hard_ and gently grinding against him and briefly he wondered if maybe Rhys should take _him_ tonight instead of the other way around. When he voiced it, Rhys chuckled.

“No. I want you to take me, Ulki.” He pulled away. “You promised me that after tonight I wouldn’t fear sex. I want it to be because you’ve shown me something far better than what was forced upon me, not because we’ve avoided it and taken a different way.” Then the bishop smirked. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

Ulki turned and kissed him hard, delving into the other’s mouth as deeply as he could. Rhys groaned and kicked his pants off and then they were fully pressed together, touching most intimately. The hawk chuckled and they fell onto the bed, twisting so Ulki’s wings wouldn’t be crushed.

“I love you,” Rhys murmured. Gently he kissed Ulki’s throat. “I am so very glad that I am here with you.”

“I’m glad you trust me,” Ulki replied. “I love you too, Rhys.”

Rhys slid downward, trailing kisses across Ulki’s collarbone down his chest. The hawk raised an eyebrow; Rhys had never been particularly forward but then, who was he to complain when the bishop finally did manage to work up the courage? Instead of speaking he simply slid a hand into Rhys’ hair, smiled gently when the bishop glanced up at him, and enjoyed himself.

And for someone who had never done this sort of thing before, Rhys was surprisingly skilled. Not overly so, but it was enough to make Ulki let the question slip out before he had time to catch himself. Rhys looked up from where he’d been circling a nipple with his tongue.

“You’re an excellent teacher,” he purred, and that was enough to send another wave of arousal through the hawk. It was starting to be uncomfortable at this point, even though his erection was pressed against Rhys’ stomach, even though he was moving his hips just enough to experience some additional pleasure.

“Rhys,” he breathed, and the bishop hummed softly. He continued his ministrations for a moment, and then he was kissing down Ulki’s stomach, nuzzling against the base of his cock, just _barely_ ,and looking up at him through lidded eyes.

“Teach me.”

Ulki resisted the urge to start spouting orders right then and there. “You don’t have to; I’ll be fine if you don’t.”

“I know.” Rhys’ eyes were shining, his pulse fast. It was still anticipation, though. Rhys hadn’t shown a trace of fear at all tonight. “I want to. I—” the bishop was turning a deeper shade of red, “—I’m curious.”

“If you want to.”

And Rhys certainly took instructions well. He was tentative at first; Ulki was sure that he still felt some discomfort, even if he was suppressing his fears. But as time passed he grew more confident, and Ulki found himself biting his lip and trying hard not to thrust into the bishop’s mouth. With some amount of difficulty, he told Rhys to stop, hauled the bishop up, and kissed him. His hands slid down to the other man’s buttocks and he squeezed gently.

“May I?”

Rhys pulled away from him, flushed, and grinned shyly. “Yes.”

Ulki smiled. “Straddle me.”

Ashera, it felt too good, just having Rhys on top of him with his legs spread, even though they were nowhere near penetration yet. Ulki’s hands were shaking as he fumbled for the oil he’d bought earlier. When his fingers were coated he looked at Rhys and then grinned; the bishop was already kneeling, giving him more than enough room to slip his hand in between them. Rhys’ heart was racing at this point and as Ulki let a single digit touch the other man’s entrance he saw brief terror on Rhys’ face. Rhys bit his lip before he had a chance to comment and told him it was alright, and at this point, who was he to argue?

“Gently,” he murmured. “Relax, love. I’ll go slowly. Tell me if you want to stop.”

Rhys nodded. Ulki raised one of the bishop’s hands to his lips and kissed his fingertips gently. Carefully he eased a single finger into the bishop. The look on Rhys’ face went from fear to surprised satisfaction in less than a second.

“Oh,” Rhys breathed. “This… _oh_.”

Ulki couldn’t help chuckling. Rhys relaxed around him and he slid in a second finger without warning, but instead of gasping Rhys simply moaned. 

“Ulki...” Rhys smiled down at him when Ulki raised an eyebrow. “No, it doesn’t hurt. I wasn’t…I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Mm.” The hawk grinned. “Let’s see if I can’t make it a bit better.”

Gently he curled his fingers inside the other man. For a moment nothing happened, and then Rhys pulled in his breath sharply. For the first time, Ulki heard him curse.

“Ah! Dammit, Ulki, d-do that again.”

He couldn’t help obeying. When he was sure things wouldn’t end badly, he slid in a third finger. Rhys bit his lip. Ulki recognized the way his breathing hitched in his throat; this was pain. For a long time he didn’t move. When Rhys finally murmured that he was alright, Ulki thrust his fingers experimentally. Rhys gasped, his fingers digging into Ulki’s flesh. The hawk couldn’t help groaning.

“Do you think you’re ready?”

Rhys’ lips curved upward. “I think I am.” He moaned softly as Ulki withdrew his fingers. A moment later Ulki had coated his cock in the oil and was pressed against him. “Ulki.”

“Yes?”

“I love you. I am very glad that you are my first.”

“I am very glad that I am here with you.” Ulki gently gripped the other man’s hips. “Stop me if it becomes painful.”

Rhys nodded. “I will.”

“I love you, Rhys.”

It was too damned slow. Rhys’ grip tightened on him and he murmured for Ulki to slow down every half a second until Ulki was sure that he was going to explode just from merely _wanting_ this as badly as he did. But after two long, excruciating minutes, he was sheathed inside the other man and Rhys was flushed and grinning at him. Ulki gently lifted Rhys, grinning when he saw the confused look on the other man’s face. When Rhys was halfway off of his cock he let go, thrusting upward as Rhys slid back down. The bishop gasped softly, and then his eyes met Ulki’s and he grinned.

To Ulki’s surprise, Rhys pressed his hands to his chest, lifting himself. The hawk chuckled; Rhys was a quick learner.

It was slow at first, so slow and too gentle. But Rhys caught on almost the moment Ulki’s thrusts grew faster and he moved accordingly until finally the hawk was thrusting too hard and too fast. At that point he simply groaned, holding his position as Ulki thrust into him, hard and fast. Then the hawk came, gasping out Rhys’ name as he spilled his seed into the bishop. Rhys gave him a look filled with affection and if Ulki had had the strength, he would have pulled the other man down and kissed him.

“You feel so damned good,” he managed. “I—I mean, _really damned good_ , Rhys.”

Rhys leaned down and kissed his brow gently. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

Ulki cupped the bishop’s face in his hands and kissed him. “I’m not through with you yet.”

Rhys looked confused for a moment, and then Ulki reached for his erection and he gasped. “I—Ulki, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” Ulki chuckled.

It was quick, but Rhys usually came to completion quickly anyways. The bishop moaned Ulki’s name and bucked into his hand and came moments later, his seed spurting across the hawk’s stomach. Then he was slipping off of Ulki, curling against his side and kissing him.

“That was wonderful,” he murmured. “Absolutely wonderful.”

“I’m glad.” Ulki lightly kissed the other’s brow. “I love you, Rhys.”

Rhys pulled him closer, lightly caressing his cheek. “I love you too, Ulki.”


	30. Epilogue: In which things work out for the best

He’d been completely baffled when Elincia insisted on presenting him to the masses as well.

It was certain that Ike would be there, standing next to her; he was the commander of their army and had led them through nearly every country on the continent for the sake of victory. He had brought Elincia home after a long year of marching and found the missing heron princess and helped the people of Daein (even though Soren still didn’t think that they had deserved the assistance) and downright insulted The Apostle Herself. He deserved to be up there next to their queen, having the people of Melior cheer for them.

Soren had done little. He didn’t need to be next to Elincia, being stared at, having people whisper about whether or not he was a Spirit Charmer. He had hardly played any part in this at all; organization was simply something that needed to be done and that Ike had no time for. But when he had voiced these, Ike had kissed him (in front of Elincia) and murmured that they would have lost most of their battles if it hadn’t been for their brilliant tactician. Elincia had giggled and then told him that they would be too high up for anyone to really see the mark, and if he was _that_ worried about it, he could cover it.

So here he was now, waiting just inside the doors. Elincia was worrying and Ike was comforting her the same way he did Mist. Soren chose not to say anything when Ike got on his knee in front of her and caught her hand, smiling. He very nearly said something as Ike led her toward the balcony. But when he reached Soren, his arm was around the sage’s waist, fingers curling over his hip in exactly the way they had during every one of their marches across Tellius.

Soren let himself smile.

Afterward, Elincia pulled him aside.

“I never thanked you,” she said. She was nervous. Soren put on the most non-threatening face he could without smiling. Elincia glanced up and him and then back at the floor. “You’ve done me a great service. I know you wanted to leave me behind when Ike found me. I’m—I’m very glad that you allowed him to help me. And I’m very thankful that you guided us in battle. Thank you, Soren.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what to say. To say it hadn’t been a problem would be false; a year-long war was a damned inconvenience. But he had gained much. Knowledge and relief and marriage and another friend—two, if Ranulf could be taken into consideration. Staying home in Crimea would have deprived him of each of those things.

So he nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Then the queen grinned. She really was too young for all of this—sixteen was far too young to take up the throne, but then, they had all had hardships. At that moment she looked her age. A teenager acting as a teenager should.

“There’s a party tonight. In celebration. It’s going to be all nonsense and nobles wanting to meet the commander, and I won’t lie—there will probably be few with interest in your tactics, but—but I would appreciate it if you and Ike would come, if not just for a mark or two.”

“I suppose.” Then Soren let his lips curve upward. “Not long. There are better things to be doing.”

“You’ve got your own way of celebrating.” Elincia smiled at him. “You’re lucky, you know. A long time ago, before I knew about the two of you, I had hoped it would be me that he was accompanying on this day.”

Again, he wasn’t sure what to say. What would Ike tell her? “You’ll find someone to take you, I’m sure.”

She flushed. “Thank you.” Then, to his surprise, she bowed slightly. “I have a few things to go over. I will see you tonight.”

And Soren nodded curtly. “You will.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

It wasn’t as bad as she’d said it would be. Even Soren had to admit that to himself. The hall had a relatively good balance of nobles and their own army, and they all seemed too terrified by all the laguz in the room to try and start anything. The speech Elincia had given had helped matters, though; as soon as dinner was finished, she was toasting their success and going on about this and that and the other (in all honesty, Soren had been preoccupied with Ike’s hand trailing teasing lines across his thigh underneath the table) and telling everyone to show respect to their army and its commander.

And then the music had started and Ike had leaned down.

“Dance with me,” he murmured.

It would be the first time that Soren had ever refused him.

“No.”

Ike looked taken aback. “No? Why not?”

“To do so would be unwise.” Soren pursed his lips. “Dance with Elincia. It’s what they all want.”

“I don’t care what they all want.” Ike’s hand caught his. Soren began to pull away and thought better of it.

“Ike. You don’t seem to understand your position here. They have all made assumptions about you. To them, you are the hero with a tragic past, whose father died in this war. So you took up his position in order to fight for your country, for your queen, and now that the war has been won, you are looking to settle down in the home of some noblewoman or, should you be so lucky, the queen herself. They don’t _care_ about what really happened; they merely want to hear what they think _should_ have happened.”

Ike’s lips met his forehead. “I don’t care what they think.”

“You should care about your reputation, Ike. Rumours are quick to spread. It will be bad for business and the reputation of the mercenaries if you take no care.”

“It won’t.” Ike pulled Soren to his feet. “Any customers who abandon us because of rumours were not worth it in the first place. Even if they _do_ spread, think of what we’ve done. Regardless of what people say about us, the fact of the matter is that we’ve helped save the country.”

“Ike—”

“Dance with me.”

“ _Ike_.” Soren pulled away. “If the circumstances were different, I would.”

“You heard Elincia. Respect my army. Respect _me_. Anybody who dares defy their queen’s orders will deal with the Royal Knights.”

Soren hardly had time to think; Ike was pulling him to the dance floor. He opened his mouth to protest but Ike ignored him as he hissed his complaints. Ike was far stronger anyways; it wasn’t worth it. Soren succumbed and let Ike pull him in.

“You realize that I will trip us,” he mentioned as a last resort. Ike grinned and let his lips brush Soren’s Brand.

“You move as gracefully as anything on the battlefield,” the swordsman murmured. “I’ll lead you. Move with me and you’ll be fine.”

Soren nearly snorted. “And where, pray tell, did you learn to dance?”

Ike chuckled. “Elincia told me that, at the end of the war, we would probably be forced into some sort of banquet filled with nobles who would expect me to do this sort of thing. Granted, I don’t believe that she expected I would be escorting _you_ , of all people, but the thought still counts.”

The sage grinned. “I’d wondered what the two of you were doing. I didn’t want to pry.”

Ike didn’t say anything and instead kissed his Brand. Soren sighed; there would be no arguing with the man. He let Ike lead him in a reasonably slow circle. Eyes were boring holes into his back. He was sure that they’d be lynched for this.

Someone started to say something but it was lost on him; the music was ending and Ike dipped him low. Soren’s eyes widened and he thought about refusing again but it was too late; Ike was kissing him in front of half the nobles in Crimea. People gasped and murmured and the room fell silent.

Briefly. Soren made a mental note to thank Elincia. The queen called for more music and the stunned musicians had murmured amongst themselves before starting up again. Still, nobody moved for several seconds.

Then someone was shouting enthusiastically. From the corner of his eye he saw Kieran dragging Oscar onto the floor. Gatrie followed, even though Shinon was uttering a steady stream of curses the entire way. People _stared_ at Stefan and Mordecai. The murmuring grew in volume, although Soren did note that only half the nobles seemed to be angry.

Someone grabbed Soren. A spell was on his lips immediately; with or without a tome, he could still do enough to injure someone. The man gave him a hard look.

“You’re disgusting,” he hissed. “Get out. I don’t care what you’ve done for this country; you’ll not defile this place.”

Soren opened his mouth to reply. Stefan beat him to it. Cold steel glinted at the swordsman’s side. A warning. Mordecai was beside him, growling low in his throat. Ike looked almost as though he were about to smile.

“You’re being rude,” Stefan said coolly. “After all he has done for you, you can show no respect? This man is the reason we managed to win you your country back. Ike is a formidable commander, an excellent swordsman and possibly the most accepting man alive. Soren is the most brilliant tactician I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. And if you are too stupid to realize what you are doing, perhaps we should escort you out.”

The man hardly flinched. “You think I will be threatened by this? A swordsman and some—some filthy _sub-human_?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Mordecai was tensing, preparing to attack. Thankfully, Elincia stepped in.

“Lord Ludveck.” Her eyes were hard. “I should have known it would be you causing such a commotion. You’ve no respect. Simply because you have your own beliefs does not give you the right to force them upon others. I see no problem here other than you. Geoffrey will escort you out.”

“Princess—”

Elincia raised an eyebrow slowly. Ludveck’s eyes widened when he saw the Knights falling into place behind her. Geoffrey was on him in an instant and minutes later the noble had been led from the room.

The nobles were still in stunned silence. But a grinning Bastian was pulling Elincia onto the dance floor next to Ike, motioning for music. Nobody dared refuse him.

Within moments things were back to normal. People were talking and dancing and eating and mostly paying no mind to the same-sex couples on the floor. Ike leaned down and kissed Soren gently.

“I told you it would be alright,” he murmured. “But I have had enough of this for tonight.”

Soren grinned. “To bed?”

“Please.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Dance with me.”

They had stood at the same time. Said it at the same time. In unison they had offered their hands. Naesala hardly flinched, as always. Tibarn looked at him coolly. Their hearts felt exactly the same. Reyson sighed.

“If you start arguing over who I choose, I’m dancing with my sister.”

Somehow, that had fixed things. Tibarn had chuckled and Naesala had let himself grin. It was comforting, knowing that they could still laugh even though he was going to Phoenicis. He stood, taking Tibarn’s hand. Naesala pretended to be heartbroken for perhaps half a second, and then he shrugged and swept up Leanne instead.

And _she_ was certainly thrilled. Reyson couldn’t help laughing; Naesala was being dragged so quickly that anyone who hadn’t seen the exchange would have thought he was being danced with against his will.

Tibarn laughed. “She’s a strong and stubborn as any of the hawks.”

Reyson chuckled. “She takes after you.”

They were silent for a moment. Tibarn finally leaned down and kissed his hair.

“I’m glad you’re coming home with us, Reyson. Truly, I am.”

“Mm.” The heron leaned into him. “I’m glad that you’re alright with this. With Naesala.”

Tibarn shrugged. “He’s a good man. Most days. I’m still not pleased about what happened. But I’m not going to hold it against him either.”

“Leanne told you, then?” Reyson bit his lip. “Something has happened in Kilvas. I’m worried about him but I know he won’t share.”

“You could just read his mind.”

“I will not. He has earned my trust and I will not force his thoughts from him.”

Tibarn snorted. “Do you know what your problem is?”

“My _problem_?”

The king grinned. “Your _problem_ ,” he murmured, “is that you’re too nice.”

“I am not too nice.” Reyson made a face. “I respect my friends and nothing more.”

“You’re too nice,” Tibarn insisted. “But we love you that way.”

Reyson didn’t say anything for a moment. He knew he had to be right, that what he’d felt for the entire time they’d all been together hadn’t just been his imagination. That the nights spent curled up with them hadn’t simply been for his sake.

“Tibarn,” he murmured, “you do have feelings for Naesala, don’t you?”

“I do.” There was no hesitation in his voice and Reyson breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad. I was concerned that you might have been sleeping with us simply for my sake.”

“No matter how much I love someone, I will not give myself to another simply because it will make them happy.” Tibarn gave him a devilish grin. “Naesala is, to put it simply, sexy as _fuck_. He tops off good looks with a reasonably good personality. I am concerned for him but he would never accept the help of Phoenicis. The most I can do is stand by and protect my people should something happen, and make an attempt to forgive him.”

Then came the harder question. “Do you love him more than you love me?”

It wasn’t necessary to know, really. Naesala currently had far more redeeming qualities than the hawk did. Tibarn hardly let Reyson out of his sight if he could help it; Naesala would simply nod and kiss him, if he hadn’t already gone off by himself. Reyson had thought it over time and time again. Initially he had loved Naesala with all his heart, and simply been attracted to Tibarn. But as time had passed, Tibarn had managed to become just as important as—perhaps even moreso than—Naesala.

Tibarn’s lips nuzzled against his forehead and the hawk squeezed him gently. “No. Nobody will ever be more beloved to me than you are, Reyson.”

He couldn’t help it. Reyson threw his arms around Tibarn’s neck and kissed him.

From somewhere behind them he heard Leanne burst into giggles.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Dance with me.”

The sniper had smiled and offered his hand as he whispered. Ungloved, calloused, only two fingers tanned due to the archer’s gloves he wore. His white shirt was loose to keep his scars from being irritated and his pants were black, disappearing into the knee-length boots he refused to switch out for a more formal pair. As usual, his red hair was tied up in a high ponytail. He was smiling, even with his eyes. That smile was for Gatrie only.

Gatrie smiled and took the other man’s hand. His clothing was a touch more formal, all colours and ruffles and entirely too uncomfortable. He was a mercenary, not a nobleman. His jacket was shed, leaving him in the same white shirt that Shinon displayed. Somewhere to his left he heard a group of young noblewomen—alright, teenagers, really, but that was hardly the point—gasp and giggle. Shinon smirked as he hauled the blonde past them and onto the ballroom floor.

“An hour ago you were using every word in the book against me to try and get out of this,” Gatrie chuckled.

Shinon shrugged. Some sort of slow number was playing and the sniper pressed against him, arms around his waist and his head nestled against the crook of Gatrie’s neck. It was unorthodox, really; all the other nobles out here were holding hands and stepping a certain way and looking as though they were only touching because they were _supposed_ to.

“An hour ago I hadn’t been drinking, and you were dragging me out to defend Ike.”

“So now—”

“Now I am doing this out of my own free will, because I want to be here with you.”

“If you wanted to get close we could have just gone straight to bed.”

Shinon chuckled. “There’s _booze_ here, Gatrie.”

The knight laughed. “I suppose.”

Then Shinon was slipping his hands down, just barely letting his fingers curve over Gatrie’s butt. Gently he pulled the knight’s earlobe between his teeth. Gatrie couldn’t help groaning.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Claiming what is mine,” Shinon purred. “They’ve all been ogling you since the night started. You are _mine_.”

“The noblewomen? They’re all—”

“Going back to their husbands.” Shinon pulled away from him, grinning. “As have I.”

Gatrie flushed with pleasure. “We’re not—not _really_ , y’know.”

“When I can afford it, we will be.”

He couldn’t help kissing Shinon’s forehead. “And you’re not saying this just because you’ve been drinking.”

“Goddess, I hope not.”

Gatrie couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. Shinon looked indignant for perhaps two seconds, and then he was laughing as well, in front of _everyone_. Shinon never let himself laugh in front of people. But then, Shinon _had_ been drinking.

“I love you,” Gatrie breathed.

Shinon murmured it against his neck. “I love you. So much, Gatrie.”

In the end, they danced all night.

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Dance with me.”

Tormod had turned bright red. “Muarim is _right here,_ ” he hissed, indicating the tiger. “What are you _doing_?”

Sothe grinned. “Taking a risk.” His hand caught the sage’s. “It’s fine.”

Tormod pulled his hand away. “Look, things have finally settled down between us and the last thing I want to do is start fighting. We’ve got a long way to go home and I don’t want to be arguing the entire way.”

Sothe raised an eyebrow. “Have you actually turned around and looked at him in the past mark or so?”

Tormod’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

The thief burst out laughing. Tormod turned around in time to see his guardian knock back what had to be his tenth drink within the past half-mark. Largo was across from him, looking equally intoxicated. Calill looked as though she were trying very hard to give them a disapproving look, but her face was flushed and she had an empty glass in one hand.

Tormod snorted. “I—he’s not usually—”

“Dance with me.” It took most of Sothe’s willpower not to just drag the sage out there.

“You’re being awfully forward for someone who didn’t even want to be _friends_ with me earlier this year.”

Sothe gave up on willpower. It took him three seconds to drag a protesting Tormod from where they had been seated to where everyone was dancing. The sage was still flushed.

“I’m telling you, he’s going to see us and—”

“And what? He said himself that he was irrational. Have a good time. After tonight I’m probably not going to see you for a really, really long time.”

“I guess.” Tormod relaxed slightly. “I…come visit me in Grann. If you can.”

Sothe smiled. “I’ll do my best. There’ll be riots for weeks now that we’ve been defeated.” Then he kissed the sage’s hair. “I’ll write to you. If nothing else, I’ll write.”

Tormod was silent. He squeezed Sothe tightly. “Good luck finding her. Your friend.”

Sothe kissed him. “Thank you.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

It turned out that Volke was very, _very_ good at dancing.

Zihark had been overwhelmed at first. He’d never done this before; he was a commoner. Commoners didn’t need to know how to dance, not for nobles where appearances were everything. What he was familiar with wouldn’t be even remotely fit for this sort of setting. When he’d lived in Gallia it hadn’t been any better; he’d never had to dance at all, period. Things were far easier there. Any impressing that needed to be done was through shows of strength.

Volke had dragged him to one of the upper balconies, where nobody would see them. It was some sort of dance. Zihark knew he’d make a fool of himself.

But the assassin had been good about it. His explanation was simple enough and when he’d finally challenged Zihark to dance, the swordmaster had taken to it relatively well. Volke danced the way he sparred. He tapped in the swordsman’s ankles when he stepped too far and smacked him on the wrist if he moved out too soon and Zihark was beginning to think that this _was_ going to be some sort of sparring match.

Volke chuckled when he mentioned it. The assassin’s hand brushed his cheek, his lips following suit. “Did you expect any less?” he asked.

Zihark opened his mouth to retort. Volke spun, fell into Zihark’s arms, and kissed him. If he had been anything less than impressed, Zihark would have pulled away and begun complaining. It was gentle, though, warm and sweet and everything that everyone thought Volke _wasn’t_.

After a long time, Volke pulled away.

“I wouldn’t do this if you were anything but my equal in battle,” he murmured. The short knife was in his hand again. Zihark grinned; he’d been waiting for this.

It was just as quick and easy as when Volke had done it to himself. Within minutes Zihark matched him, a streak of deep chestnut against his own hair, curling out at the end just slightly. His was in plain sight, though, not hidden behind his ear as Volke’s was.

“Love is dangerous,” Volke murmured. “If people find out who you are, they will do everything in their power to harm you if they think it will give them the slightest advantage over me. You are a strong man. I trust that you would never be put in that situation.”

Zihark chuckled. “I can handle a sword just as well as you can. You know I will never be caught. Let them come.”

“I pray it never happens.” Volke nuzzled against the side of his neck. “Stay safe, Zihark.”

Zihark squeezed the assassin hard. “Always. I love you, Volke.”

He felt the assassin grin. “And I you.”

())CRAYOLA))> 

“Dance with me.”

Ranulf didn’t even have time to blink. He was swept into the air, dragged onto one of the upper balconies. Several of the hawk tribe were already there. They were the only homosexual couple.

“Janaff, I don’t—”

“They don’t care,” Janaff replied. “Tibarn’s dancing with Reyson. I’m sure that they’ll be off somewhere else soon enough anyways.”

Laughter erupted all around them. Ranulf smiled and Janaff hugged him. “I’m going to miss you. I truly regret that this is ending.”

Ranulf nodded. “We’ve got a few weeks left. You’re staying to help rebuild. I’ll see you—”              

“You know we’ll both be too busy rebuilding to have any time together.” Janaff didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve been assigned to the upper towers of the castle. Keeping watch, y’know? Even though Ashnard’s dead, there will still be rebellions now and again from soldiers in hiding.”

Ranulf’s heart fell. “And I’m on the ground, clearing out the homes he burned down, building new ones…”

“You see? I’m sorry, but this is it. We’re over after tonight.”

“I see.” The cat looked at him and it hurt, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to have this again. “It was…it was nice.”

The hawk grinned at him. “I said _after_ tonight. I wouldn’t have asked you to dance if I was just going to break things off with you right here. I’ll let you have a few more marks with me.”

He chuckled. “You’re so generous.”

Janaff gave him a soft smile. “It’s why you love me. I’m sorry that this has to happen.”

Ranulf shrugged and pretended that he hadn’t just been stabbed through the heart. “It’s alright. Couldn’t have lasted long anyways. Phoenicis is too far away from Gallia.”

Janaff looked up at him. “You know I’m never going to truly forget you.”

Ranulf couldn’t help kissing him. “I know. I feel the same way.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

())CRAYOLA))>

 “Cheers.”

Rhys smiled and let his glass clink against Ulki’s. They drank. The champagne was good, some of the best that Elincia had in the castle. Their room was out of the way, the door barred. Candles lit the room instead of torches.

“To us,” Rhys breathed. Ulki smiled.

“To us,” he repeated. “To many years ahead.”

“Cheers.”

They drank again. Became a little more lightheaded with every glass until the bottle was empty and Ulki was kissing him and slipping his robes off, wrapping him in heated skin and gentle touches and love.

“I love you,” Ulki breathed. “I think that I will always love you.”

Rhys flushed with pleasure. “And I think the same. You are very precious to me, Ulki. I love you so very much.”

())CRAYOLA))>

“I-Ike!”

The commander smirked, sweat beading on his skin. Soren clawed at his back, bit down on his shoulder, pulled Ike ever closer. Ike didn’t break their rhythm as he kissed the sage, his lips and his cheeks and his throat, letting his teeth scrape against Soren’s pulse. Soren looked exhausted and he could feel the sage’s heart pounding. He ignored Soren’s request to slow down because not moments ago Soren had begged for a good hard fuck, and besides, the sage’s cock was rock hard and dripping and look in his eye clearly stated that slowing down was not high on his list of priorities.

Ike kissed him again, forcing his tongue against Soren’s. It drew a long moan from the sage and Soren pulled away just long enough to gasp that he was going to come.

“Again?” Ike growled. Soren arched against him, clenching around him, teeth digging in, breaking the skin. He tried to say something but it was lost as Ike reached down and gripped his cock.

Ike chuckled and didn’t slow in the slightest. Soren screamed his release moments later. _Now_ he would beg for Ike to stop and truly mean it, because this was the second (third? fourth? Ike couldn’t quite remember) time he’d asked for the exact same thing and he had to be getting tired and sore by now.

After Ike climaxed he finally slowed, collapsing against Soren. The sage’s arms were still around him, his legs loosely hooked over his waist. His heart was pounding so hard that Ike sure it would find its way out of Soren’s chest. He kissed the skin there and nuzzled against the sage’s neck.

“I didn’t think that _you_ would be the one spiking our drinks with it,” he finally managed to say.

Soren found the strength to chuckle. “And I didn’t think that _you_ would manage six orgasms.”

“If I managed six, you managed at least eight.” Ike grinned.

Soren didn’t argue that one.

They were quiet for a long time, exchanging gentle caresses and kisses. Then Ike chuckled.

“I don’t think I’ll be in the mood for at least a week,” he finally admitted. “I don’t think I’ll even be able to walk tomorrow.”

“It was worth it,” Soren groaned.

Ike learned up and kissed him. “I suppose.”

Quiet again. Soren finally broke the silence.

“We’re rebuilding, aren’t we? Not Melior, but the fort.” He would have flushed if he’d had the capacity to be embarrassed.

“Of course.” Ike nuzzled Soren’s collarbone. “It’s our home. We need someplace to go back to now that this is all done. I’m certainly not keeping this title; being a noble is far too much work.”

The sage chuckled. “That is so very like you.”

Ike grinned. “Have you thought about what I offered?”

Soren shook his head. “I cannot say for certain what you’re talking about.”

“Sharing a room.” He kissed Soren’s pulse. “I’ve got more gold than I know what to do with. I can afford a bed for two.”

Soren was quiet for a long time. His arms tightened around Ike gently and he kissed the other man’s brow.

“I would be glad to.”


	31. Epilogue

“Thank you.”

Soren had hardly been able to register what was happening in his head. Arms were enveloping him but they weren’t Ike’s, and he could smell leather and steel, but none of the undertones that made up Ike. After a moment he clued in and let himself smile. He wrapped his arms around the other man and squeezed tightly. Sand and sword powder and steel and leather, soap and ink and traces of blood. The scent had become familiar far too quickly but somehow it didn’t matter, because it was Stefan, and Stefan was the only other person he could ever truly trust aside from Ike.

“I haven’t done anything,” Soren began, but even as he said it he knew that Stefan knew something he didn’t. The swordmaster chuckled and squeezed him.

“You certainly have.” He pulled away just long enough to loosen his collar and show the scar. Soren raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips.

“You _didn’t_.”

“We did.” Stefan covered his neck and pulled Soren against him. “We’re getting married, Soren.”

“Regardless, it’s nothing to do with anything I’ve done.”

Stefan shook his head. “All the times we sat and talked, all the times you told me just how important Ike was to you, every detail you ever shared with me about your relationship…it made me realize just what I was missing out on. And even though I was able to do much of it on my own, you are the reason I worked up the courage to mate with him.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

The sage nodded. “You’re welcome, I suppose.”

Silence for a moment. Stefan inhaled deeply and nuzzled his cheek against Soren’s hair. “One more thing.”

“Mm?”

“In three weeks we’re having a ceremony. It’s going to be in Gallia, just past the border. Nothing big and fancy.” Stefan hesitated. “You are the closest thing I have to family. I want you and Ike to be there.”

“To witness your defiance of what it means to be Branded?”

Stefan laughed. “Yes. If that’s what you’d like to call it, then yes.”

They were quiet for a long time. Finally Stefan spoke again.

“You know that I love you, Soren.”

He stiffened. But it was Stefan, and Stefan didn’t quite mean it the way that lovers did.

He almost let himself smile.

“I’ll be at your wedding,” he murmured.

“I love you,” Stefan repeated.

This time he did smile. “And I you.”


End file.
